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4 ^o 






FRANK R. STOCKTON 

Volume V 

ARDIS CLAVERDBN 















t 


THE NOVELS AND STORIES OF 
FRANK R. STOCKTON 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 



NEW YORK 

JWtoJs SCRIBNER’S SONS 

€ f elf 





TWO COPIES RECEIVED, 

Library cf Ccm^rte«% 
Office of thfe 


22 1903 

Register of Copy right & 


C i 'l, , e' 0 


KTV 

r 



Copyright, 1889, by P. F. Collier ; 1890, by Dodd, Mead & Co. ; 
1894, 1900, by Charles Scribner’s Sons 




THE DEVINNE PRESS. 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 








ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


CHAPTER I 

0 1ST a pleasant morning, at the very end of summer, 
a man was sitting upon a fence by a roadside. 
This fence was in that country of low mountains and 
rolling land which lies along the eastern base of the 
Virginia Blue Ridge. The air was warm, but not too 
warm ; and the man liked warm air. The sky was 
clear and blue without a cloud 5 and there was some- 
thing in the heart of the man which made him love a 
sky like this. He wore a wide straw hat ragged at 
the edges ; his shirt was coarse and indicated the color 
of the soil, and his trousers of brown cotton cloth 
were tucked into the tops of a pair of heavy, well- 
worn boots. He was a poor man, and had very little 
in this world except a wife and four daughters. But 
the air was warm and the sky was blue, and he was 
happy. And, to add to his happiness, there came to 
him the smell of grapes. The three things that he 
loved in this world, next best to his wife and daugh- 
ters, were warm air, blue sky, and the smell of grapes. 

The perfume which so pleased this man did not 
come from grapes growing on their vines, for there 
was no vineyard nearer than his own very little one, 

3 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

and this year, the yield being a poor one, his grapes 
had all been eaten by his family. A gentle wind 
came down a long hill which lay above him, and 
down the road upon this hillside also came a wagon 
drawn by a pair of oxen. These, moving much more 
slowly than the gentle wind, leaned up against each 
other at such an angle that it seemed a wonder they 
could keep their feet, and held back the creaking 
wagon with their unwieldy yoke. By their side 
walked a negro man who assisted their descent by 
gently flapping their sides with his long whip, and by 
alternate commands and objurations, always addressing 
each animal by his proper name. In the wagon were 
six barrels filled with grapes, and it was the fragrance 
from these which came down tbe hill and helped to 
make happy the heart of the man upon the fence. 

“Hello, Shad ! ” cried the man upon the fence, when 
the deliberately moving oxen had nearly reached him. 
“Is that the whole of the major’s grape-crop?” 

“Whoa, Rob ! Back, Rory ! ” cried the driver, 
mildly accentuating his commands by a tap across 
the forehead of the near ox. His team having will- 
ingly and suddenly come to a stand, the man walked 
round in front of them. “Yes, sah,” he said, “dat’s 
putty nigh de hull crap, ’cep’in’, ob course, dem wines 
what Miss Ardis has tied de red strings on. Ef her 
string hadn’t give out I reckon dar wouldn’t ’a’ been 
more dan a one-hoss load fer de wine-cellar.” 

“What does she tie red strings on for?” asked the 
other. 

“Fo’ eat’n’ pupposes, sah. Miss Ardis she’s ob de 
’pinion dat grapes was made to eat, an’ not to be 
squzz up in a press ; an’ she jes go through de wine- 

4 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


yard an’ tie her strings to eb’ry wine whar de grapes 
look mos’ good to eat 5 an’ you bet, sah, dat when 
de pickers come to dem wines dey jes pass ’em by 
as ef dey was no-’count sassafras-bushes, an’ go ’long 
lookin’ fer wines wid no red strings on ’em.” 

The man on the fence smiled. “That was a very 
wise thing to do,” he said. “When you eat grapes 
you know you have got a good thing, but when you 
make ’em into wine nobody knows what you’re goin’ 
to get.” 

“Dat’s all right, sail,” said the driver, stumping the 
butt of his whip into the road, “ef you’ve only got 
enough grapes to eat comf’ble.” 

“Oh, of course,” said the other, “if a man has a big 
vineyard he might as well send what grapes he can’t 
eat to the wine-cellar, but what I mean is that he 
first ought to see that his family have all they 
want.” 

“Miss Ardis she ’tend to dat, sah,” said Shad. 
“Dar’s no use ob nobody else gibin’ demselves no 
trouble ’bout dat.” And he raised his whip in the 
air with the intention of starting his oxen. 

“By the way, Shad,” said the man on the fence, “is 
the major sendin’ any of his extry grapes to the 
wine-cellar this year?” 

“Dem grapes is all on de wines yit 5 an’ Miss Ardis 
didn’t tie no red strings on ’em, nuther. De major 
he come an’ tas’e ’em de fust minute dey was ripe, an’ 
he shuk his head an’ he say, ‘Dey ain’t right yit!’ 
an’ he jes leabe ’em dar fo’ de birds, an’ I s’pects 
dar’ll be anudder year ob puttin’ stuff inter dar roots 
an’ cuttin’ off dar tops, an’ p’r’aps ob grubbin’ ’em up 
an’ beginnin’ all ober ag’in.” 

5 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“Very like/ 7 said the other $ “but if the old gentle- 
man ever expects to make that extry wine he’s got to 
stick to his work. You can’t do anything in this 
world if you don’t stick to it.” 

“Dat’s so/ 7 said Shad. And with a shout to Rob 
and a shout to Rory, and a flip of his whip over the 
sides of each of them, he again started his creaking 
wagon on its road to the town. 

If an object in life of the man on the fence was to 
sit in a somewhat elevated position by a road along 
which people occasionally passed, he was true to his 
principles, for he stuck to the fence long after the 
grape-wagon had disappeared round a turn in the 
road. He was American born, but of Italian descent. 
In the early part of this century a great landholder of 
the neighborhood had determined to undertake grape- 
growing on a large scale. He studied the subject in 
Italy and the south of France, and brought over 
several Italian vine-dressers in order that he might 
introduce into this country a knowledge of the proper 
culture of the grape. His vines had all died out long 
ago, but the vine-dressers took root in the soil, and if 
they did not flourish, they multiplied. 

All of their descendants, except the man on the 
fence, had departed from the immediate neighbor- 
hood ; but this one had always lived here, and for 
many years had occupied a very small house on a 
corner of the large farm belonging to Major Claver- 
den. He cultivated a few acres about this house, and 
by making himself useful in many ways to his neigh- 
bors he earned some money and, in a manner, sup- 
ported his wife and family. In regard to his own 
support he depended almost entirely upon philosophy, 

6 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


and it must be admitted that, as a rule, lie fared 
much better than did his wife and daughters. 

Warm air, a clear blue sky, and the smell of grapes 
could not come to him in every season, but his philos- 
ophy enabled him to remember them and to look 
forward to them even in the bleakest days of winter. 
There was never a comforting element in any cir- 
cumstance and condition of his life which he was not 
able to extract. He had an ingenious mind, he was 
skilful with tools, he was a good sportsman, and 
he was well versed in agriculture and vine-growing. 
Had he done as much as he knew how to do he might 
have been a moderately prosperous man, but had he 
worked hard and systematically he would not have 
been so happy $ and thus, without having given the 
matter much consideration, he had grown into 
the habit of allowing his philosophy to make up 
the deficits occasioned by his disinclination to hard 
and systematic work. 

His family name was Bonetti, but this had long 
since been corrupted by the people in the neighbor- 
hood into Bonnet. Only Major Claverden and his 
daughter Ardis called the man by his proper name. 
The old major remembered the grandfather Bonetti, 
and nothing would have induced him to descend to 
the use of a corruption of the Italian name. 

The smell of grapes which had hung long in the 
summer air had almost faded away, when a lady came 
riding down the hill. She was mounted upon a tall 
mare ; and in the pasture-field, as close to the fence 
as it could get, there came a young colt, trotting, gal- 
loping, stopping, and whinnying to its mother, who 
occasionally turned her head and whinnied in answer. 

7 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


The lady, who was young and a good rider, came 
deliberately down the hill, and as she approached 
him the philosophizer got down from the fence and 
stood near the road. 

“Good morning, Miss Ardis,” he said, lifting his 
hat. 

“Good morning, Mr. Bonetti,” said she, drawing up 
her steed. “How is your little girl? ” 

“Oh, she’s nearly well, thank you,” he answered. 
“I think it was grapes $ and as the grapes are gone, 
the child recovers. Nature is a fine physician, Miss 
Ardis.” 

“But if nature had given you more grapes,” said 
she, “she would probably have taken away your child. 
In that case would you still wish her to practise in 
your family ? ” 

Bonetti laughed. “She has treated us very well so 
far,” he said, “and she never sends any bills. So I 
think we shall, for the present at least, keep on em- 
ploying her. And, by the way, Miss Ardis, do you 
know what nature would say to you if she happened 
to be about just now and felt like giving advice?” 

“I haven’t the least idea,” she answered. 

“Well, it’s my opinion she’d say that it wasn’t a 
good thing to let that colt follow you along the edge 
of the field. It would have been safer to shut him 
up before you started.” 

“Oh, I didn’t want to have him shut up such a fine 
day as this,” she said, “and he can’t follow me very 
far, anyway. When he gets down to the line fence 
he will have to stop.” 

“I’m not so sure about that,” said Bonetti. “That 
line fence is pretty shacklin’, and right much broken 

8 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


in some places ; and if the colt doesn’t get over and 
follow you to town, it’s as like as not he’ll break one 
of them thin legs of his tryin’ to do it.” 

The handsome face of Miss Ardis grew thoughtful 
and her dark eyes turned toward the colt, who stood 
close to the other side of the fence, trying to thrust 
his head between two of the bars. 

“I believe you are right, Mr. Bonetti,” she said; 
“I will go back and have the colt put up.” And 
quickly turning her mare, she set off on a gallop up 
the hill. 

The colt instantly followed on his side of the fence. 
Bounding along, he kept neck and neck with his 
mother, his little feet sounding in quick thuds upon 
the short turf. 

Bonetti stood in the road and looked admiringly 
after the young lady. “When she’s got anything to 
do,” he said to himself, “she goes right along and 
does it ! ” And then he walked to the fence and 
resumed his seat on the top rail. He had a little 
patch of potatoes which was ready to be dug, and 
there was a man who lived about a mile and a half 
up the road who owned a potato-hook— a much 
better implement than an ordinary spade with which 
to dig potatoes ; and as this man sometimes rode to 
town in the morning, Bonetti was waiting in the hope 
that he might see him and talk to him about borrow- 
ing his potato-hook. If the man should not pass by, 
Bonetti would walk up to his house ; but this, of 
course, would take time. 

Not many minutes had elapsed before a man on 
horseback appeared at the top of the hill, but it was 
not the man for whom Bonetti was waiting. This 

9 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


was a tall gentleman, fairly well dressed, although 
his clothes were a little rusty, and he rode a bony 
horse of a muddy cream- color, which hue was so 
peculiar that having been once seen, this horse could 
never be mistaken for any other. This gentleman 
was about forty years old, although his sober dress 
and the weather-beaten appearance of his features 
made him look much older. He wore no beard, but 
the razor could not remove the strong bluish tinge 
which covered his cheeks and chin, and this also 
helped to make him look older than he was. 

When Bonetti perceived the new-comer his eyes 
sparkled. He would rather see Hr. Lester than 
twenty other men each carrying a potato -hook which 
he did not intend to use that day. The new-comer 
brought no suggestion to Bonetti of any one of the 
three things which he loved next to his wife and 
daughters, but he and the doctor were both philoso- 
phizers and great friends. 

“ Morning, Bonnet / 7 said the doctor, stopping his 
horse. “Can you tell me what sent Miss Ardis back 
home in such a hurry? She just now passed me in a 
mad gallop, and had scarcely time to give me a word . 77 

“She has gone back , 77 said the other, “because the 
colt was following her. She is goin 7 to have him shut 
up . 77 

“Confound the colt ! 77 said Hr. Lester. And throw- 
ing his long right leg over the back of the horse, he 
dismounted, and, still holding the bridle in his hand, 
approached the fence and took a seat on the top rail 
near Bonetti. 

“If you 7 re goin 7 to do any confoundin 7 , 77 said the 
latter, “you 7 d better confound me, for I put it into 
10 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


her head to have the colt shut up. He’s too good a 
colt to run any risks with.” 

“Your advice may have been all very well for the 
colt,” said the doctor, “but it was bad for me. When 
I was more than half a mile away from the major’s 
gate I saw Miss Ardis ride out of it, and I knew 
by the little yellow mail-bag she wore that she was 
going to town. I hurried up, and I am quite sure I 
should have overtaken her and have ridden into 
town with her, and perhaps come back with her, if she 
had not changed her mind and gone charging home.” 

“You’ve good eyes, doctor,” said Bonetti, “to see 
that little bag so far.” 

“I have very good eyes for some things,” the other 
replied, “and I must say I am disappointed.” 

“What is the good of that? ” asked Bonetti. “Just 
stay here and make yourself comfortable till she comes 
back, and when we see her at the top of the hill you 
can get on your horse and be ready to go along with 
her just as you would have done before.” 

The doctor settled himself more easily upon the 
fence. “Yes,” he said, “I suppose the best thing to 
do is to wait.” 

Bonetti looked around at him with a little twinkle 
in his eye. “How long do you expect to wait, doc- 
tor? ” he asked. “I don’t mean here by the road, but 
before putting the question to her.” 

The doctor straightened himself up so suddenly that 
he jerked the cream-colored horse’s head from the 
grass on which he was browsing. “Put the question 
to her ! ” he exclaimed. “Do you suppose I could ever 
be such an inordinate fool as to put the question to 
Miss Ardis Claverden?” 


11 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“It strikes me,” said Bonetti, “that a man feelin’ as 
you do in the direction of any woman would be bound 
to put the question to her, if he had a chance.” 

The doctor remained for a moment sitting up 
straight, and then he settled down again to his former 
easy position, his body leaning forward, his elbows on 
his knees, and his heels on the second rail below him. 
“Bonnet,” said he, “I hoped you had a better opinion 
of me than that. Who am I to offer to marry a girl 
like Miss Ardis? What have I got to give her? 
What sort of a place have I to take her to ? Do you 
suppose she could live in one room, as I do, and be con- 
tent with the meals that old Aunt Hetty cooks for me ? 
I tell you, Bonnet, that if a man like me, pretty well 
on in years, without good looks, without any money to 
speak of, and who does nothing to earn a livelihood 
for himself or anybody else, were to propose to marry 
a young lady who has lived the life that Miss Ardis 
has always lived, he would commit what I call an im- 
pertinent crime.” 

Bonetti reflected for a moment. “I reckon you’re 
right, doctor,” he said. “The points of the case seem 
to be on your side. I have heard people say that you 
never practised on any patient for love or money. Is 
that so ? ” 

“That is so, Bonnet,” replied the doctor. “I am 
sorry for it but it cannot be helped now. It is nearly 
twenty years since I came back from the university 
and put my diploma up on a top shelf in my room. I 
did not feel myself ready to take people’s lives in my 
hands, and if they sent for me for little things they 
might send for me for great ones ; and the more I 
studied and looked into the matter, the stronger I felt 
12 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


that there was no reason why I should put myself for- 
ward as a practising physician in a country where 
there were already plenty of good doctors. I used to 
think that the time would come when I would feel 
ready to make a start in my profession, but it has not 
come yet, and it never will. If I had not had a little 
income— enough for one man to scratch along with— I 
should have been obliged to take some risks, like other 
beginners ; but that was not the case, and I did not 
take the risks.” 

“I have noticed,” said Bonetti, “that you never so 
much as state your notions about a cold or a toothache. 
There isn’t an old woman in the county who wouldn’t 
do that ! ” 

“You are right,” said the doctor “but people are 
not bound to take advice from an old woman, and they 
might feel bound to take it from a man who had been 
graduated from a college of medicine.” 

Bonetti smiled. “I reckon, doctor,” he said, “that 
you’d been as good as any of ’em, if you had only 
thought so. But, as you say, that’s neither here nor 
there at the present time. But it seems a little hard 
that a man of good family, who reads as much as you 
do and who knows as much as you do, and who does 
as many different kinds of things as you do by day 
and by night, should have to come to look on himself 
as you look on yourself.” 

“It is hard, Bonnet,” replied the other, “but it can’t 
be helped.” 

“Doctor,” said Bonetti, “suppose Miss Ardis was to 
come to you and say that she had seen what was in 
your mind and knew why you didn’t speak it out, and 
considerin’ the circumstances of the case, she’d do the 
13 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


speakin’ herself, and say squarely that she was ready 
to marry you just as you stood : what would you do 
then f ” 

Doctor Lester gazed steadfastly at the grass beneath 
him. “In that case,” he said, “we will suppose it is 
in the morning she makes that statement to me.” 

“ All right,” said Bonetti, “we will let it be in the 
mornin’.” 

“Very well,” answered the doctor. “I should just 
simply let myself be the happiest man on earth that 
morning, and in the evening I’d go and hang myself. 
I have thought of this thing myself, Bonnet, and that 
is what I should do. If I waited longer than that 
evening I might not be able to hang myself.” 

“I don’t know but you are right, doctor,” said Bo- 
netti. “I reckon that hangin’ on the same day would 
be the best thing you could do.” 

The doctor made no answer, but continued to gaze 
at the grass. 

“But with things in that way, doctor,” said Bonetti, 
after a little pause, “do you intend to keep on thinkin’ 
of Miss Ardis as you do think of her ? ” 

“Keep on ! ” exclaimed the doctor. “I intend to 
keep on until the end of time— at least, to the end of 
my time. I would not say this to everybody, Bonnet, 
but you and I have talked over this matter so often 
before that I don’t mind letting you see just how the 
case stands.” 

“It strikes me,” said Bonetti, “that it would be 
wearin’ on a man to keep on with a thing like this.” 

“It would be a good deal more wearing on me to 
stop it,” said the doctor. 

“Of course it wouldn’t do to stop it too suddenly,” 
14 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


said the philosophizing Bonetti. “It is like smokin’ or 
any other habit ; and considerin’ yon have had it ever 
since she was not more than a child, the breakin’ of it 
off is a thing to be careful about.” Turning his eyes 
suddenly toward the top of the hill, he exclaimed : 
“And here she comes ! ” but almost instantly added : 
“No, she doesn’t, either ! ” 

Dr. Lester had let down his long legs preparatory to 
slipping from the fence, but now he drew them back 
again and looked up the hill. It was not Miss Ardis 
who was coming ; it was a negro boy on horseback. 
The two men watched him as he approached. 

“It’s the major’s boy Tom,” said Bonetti. 

The doctor said nothing, but looked steadfastly at 
the boy, and when he came near enough Bonetti called 
out : “ O Tom ! where you goin’ ? ” 

The boy, who carried by a strap over his shoulder, 
not a neat yellow leather bag, but a large and well- 
worn brown satchel, replied : “I’s gwine to de pos’- 
office.” 

“I thought Miss Ardis was goin’,” said Bonetti. 

“Yes, sah,” replied Tom, “she Mentioned to go, but 
comp’ny done come, an’ I’s gwine.” And with that 
he rode on. 

Dr. Lester got down from the fence, put the bridle 
over the neck of his horse, and standing on one long 
leg, put the foot of the other into the stirrup and 
mounted. 

“Goin’ to town?” asked Bonetti. 

“No,” said the doctor, “I have no call to go to town. 
I reckon I will stop on my way back and have a chat 
with Major Claverden. That isn’t what I expected, 
Bonnet, but it is better than nothing. Good morn- 
15 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


ing.” And turning his cream-colored steed, he began 
the ascent of the hill. 

“I almost wish/’ said Bonetti to himself, “that I had 
let that colt break its legs. And yet, what would have 
been the good of it ? If the doctor ever gets an extra 
fair chance to speak his mind to Miss Ardis, it ? s ten 
to one he’ll forget himself and do it. And if that 
ever happens, good-by to Dr. Lester ! Whether she 
takes him or turns him off, it will be all the same. If 
he doesn’t hang for her sake, he’ll do it for his own.” 

And then Bonetti, having a superstition that it is 
unlucky to wait by a roadside until five persons pass 
in the same direction, and being oppressed therefore 
with the fear that should the owner of the potato-hook 
now appear there might be some reason why that in- 
strument could not be borrowed, got down from the 
fence and went home. 


16 


CHAPTER II 


Bald Hill, the estate of Major Claverden, was a very 
good one, although, as any one in the neighborhood 
would tell you, it was not what it used to be before the 
war. But while this might be true in many respects, 
the owner of Bald Hill, a man of sixty-five years and 
in very good physical condition, was enabled to live in 
comfort and, to a certain degree, in the style to which 
the Claverden family had been accustomed. His 
spacious house was of brick, built in the somewhat 
severe fashion of many of the old Virginia mansions. 
A fine lawn shaded by large trees, most of which had 
been planted by the major’s father, stretched before 
the house, and the character of the farm, which in- 
cluded some six hundred acres, was not to be judged 
from the stony hill, a quarter of a mile from the house, 
which gave its name to the estate. Much of the land 
was fairly good, and enough of the arable portion of it 
was under cultivation to satisfy its owner’s present 
needs. 

There were horses for riding, driving, and farm pur- 
poses, all of them good ones and raised on the place ; 
there were vehicles of various sorts in the carriage- 
house ; the negro driver wore a very good black coat 
and a high silk hat ; there was always plenty to eat 
17 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


and to drink ; the woodlands afforded abundance of 
oak and hickory logs for wintei fires ; and the major’s 
only child, Ardis, was as well dressed as any young 
lady ifi her position need wish to be. 

Mrs. Claverden had died when her daughter was very 
young, and the child had been given the family name 
of her mother. “I wish my daughter always to re- 
member,” the major would say, “that she is an Ardis 
as well as a Claverden.” And if he happened to have 
an appreciative listener he would probably continue : 
“A remarkable thing about these two families is this : 
I never heard a Claverden say that he was better than 
an Ardis, or an Ardis that he was better than a Clav- 
erden ; and considering the high position of the two 
families, this is exceptional. I feel warranted in saying 
it is truly exceptional ! Now, while I desire that my 
daughter shall never feel that she is better than her 
neighbors, I hope that she may so live that each one 
who knows her shall say that she is better than any one 
else, excepting, of course, the speaker and his family. 
I may add that I see no reason to doubt that this will 
be the case.” 

The major’s admiration for his daughter was well 
grounded, for everybody admired her, even those who 
criticised her independence of thought and action. In 
high regard and esteem of her, her father stood pre- 
eminent. In his mind she was the reason why good 
things should be and bad things should not be ; fur- 
thermore, he was often of the opinion that she was 
the reason why good things were and bad things were 
not. 

Ardis did what she pleased because her father felt 
assured that she always pleased to do what was right. 

18 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


The conviction had not come to him, although it had 
come to other people, that he often thought things 
were right because she pleased to do them. But al- 
though he was thus willing to defer to his daughter’s 
judgment in matters which concerned herself, or him- 
self in affairs over which he did not choose to exercise 
jurisdiction, Major Claverden was a man of strong 
opinions. In a great degree the conduct of affairs at 
Bald Hill was placed in the hands of Ardis, and the 
fact that she did not endeavor to interfere with those 
affairs over which her father chose to retain control 
showed that his confidence in her judgment was not 
entirely misplaced. 

They were very happy, father and daughter $ each 
independent of the other, and yet each dependent on 
the other for that independence. Ardis was beautiful, 
and this she owed to both her parents. She had talents of 
various kinds, and these she inherited from both father 
and mother. And she had an earnest desire to do what 
was right, and this also came to her from both sides of 
the family. That she did not always know what was 
right arose from the fact that a mother’s family name 
does not take the place of a mother’s guidance. 

As a child Ardis had been well taken care of by her 
nurses and relatives ; as a girl she had had all the ad- 
vantages that teachers and schools could give her j but 
as a woman there was no one on whom she could de- 
pend for counsel or direction. Should she lay a subject 
before her father, it nearly always happened that she 
had a preconceived notion in regard to it, and on the 
carrying out of that notion the major would insist— 
sometimes, if he thought necessary, with a little sever- 
ity. It had been suggested by relatives that it would 
19 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


be a very good thing if Ardis could have some pleasant 
middle-aged lady to live with her and to give her a 
certain amount of companionship as well as assistance 
in household affairs. At anything more than this no 
relative would have thought of hinting. But Major 
Claverden vigorously declared that he wanted no old 
woman meddling with his domestic affairs ; and Ardis 
quietly but firmly asserted that so long as she had the 
services of Caroline, a superior negro servant who for 
many years had acted as housekeeper, and those of 
Henry, the veteran dining-room servant, she needed 
no assistance in household duties ; and as for compan- 
ionship, she would have to think a long time before 
she could fix her mind upon any person whom she 
would be willing to take into the house as a constant 
companion. Thus it was that the father and daughter 
made up the family, and were very happy. 

As has been said, Major Claverden had other strong 
opinions besides those in regard to his daughter. 
Among these were ideas— some of which had proved 
to be very good ones— about agriculture and grape- 
growing. For many years he had had a theory that 
no reason existed why as good wine should not be 
produced from grapes grown on his estate as from 
those picked from vines on the banks of the Rhine. 
He had journeyed up and down the Rhine, had visited 
the vineyards, had carefully examined and studied the 
soil, the vines, the exposures, and the methods of cul- 
ture, and was not able to perceive why a grape grown 
in Virginia should not possess all the superior wine- 
making properties of a grape grown in Germany. To 
the perfecting of such a grape he had devoted certain 
suitable slopes of his farm and a great deal of his 
20 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


thought and attention. So far he had produced no 
grapes which satisfied him, but he had an earnest be- 
lief that eventually he should do so. 

Ever since she could remember, Ardis had heard of 
the “wine of Bald Hill/’ that wonderful liquor which 
was to rival the wine of Johannisberg. Into a belief 
in the realization of her father’s dreams in regard to 
this wine Ardis had, in a manner, been educated. 
This faith remained unquestioned, for she always 
believed in her father. 

When Dr. Lester reached Bald Hill he found that 
the company, whose arrival there had been the cause 
of his losing the ride to town with Miss Ardis, was 
made up of Mr. and Mrs. Dalrymple and their grown 
daughter. Mr. Dalrymple was a retired business man 
from the Northwest who had recently bought a farm 
in the neighborhood, intending to devote himself to 
rural pursuits. Major Claverden and his daughter had 
called on the family, and this was the return visit. 

The ladies were on the back piazza, a wide and com- 
modious structure which had recently been built for 
the pleasure of Ardis, and under her direction. She 
greatly liked this cool, partly vine-embowered piazza, 
and here, when her father and Mr. Dalrymple began 
to talk of agricultural matters, she had taken Mrs. 
Dalrymple and her daughter. To this piazza Dr. 
Lester greatly desired to repair. He did not know 
the Dalrymples, but Miss Ardis was there, and where 
she was there would he be, no matter who else might 
be present. But Major Claverden was just starting 
out to show Mr. Dalrymple his vineyard, and he in- 
vited the doctor to accompany them. 

The latter had heard over and over again the fullest 
21 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


accounts of what the Bald Hill vines were intended to 
be ; but he was a gentleman, and a gentleman had 
asked him to join another gentleman in observations 
in which it was to be expected that gentlemen would 
take an interest, and he could think of no reason, which 
it would be proper to express, why he should excuse 
himself and go and sit with three ladies. If he had 
not been conscious of a special reason for desiring to 
be with the ladies, he might have thought of some 
excuse which would have answered his purpose very 
well. 

Therefore the doctor trudged by the side of the 
major toward the southern slope of Bald Hill. All the 
way Major Claverden talked about what he had done 
and what he intended to do in regard to the ultimate 
production of the wine of Bald Hill. Mr. Dalrymple 
interjected a good many remarks, chiefly in the form 
of questions, while the doctor wondered why it should 
happen that these people should determine to come to 
Bald Hill on a morning when otherwise he might have 
had the inestimable privilege of riding to town with 
Miss Ardis. Any other morning would have suited 
the Dalrymples as well as this ; but when would such 
a happy chance again present itself to him 1 He made 
a promise to himself that the next time such an op- 
portunity occurred to him and he was not prevented 
from taking advantage of it, he would give one dollar 
to the poor. The doctor could not afford such char- 
ity, but he made the promise in good faith and would 
stand by it. 

“Now, sir,” said the major to Mr. Dalrymple, “you 
see before you a hill which is precisely similar in all 
its conditions to those slopes from which the most 
22 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


famous Rhenish wines are produced. Like many of 
the vineyards on the banks of the Rhine, this hill was 
originally totally unfitted for the culture of the grape. 
It had nothing in its favor but the climate of the region 
and its exposure. As the hills on the Rhine were 
terraced, I terraced this one ; a suitable soil was de- 
posited by manual labor upon their terraces, so I 
deposited soil on these. There is no difference, sir, 
between the earth in which the Rhenish vines grow 
and this earth. Years of observation, analysis, and 
patient labor have enabled me to feel entirely certain 
upon this point. The vines on this slope are the same 
as those which grow in the famous Johannisberg vine- 
yard. To have them so, sir, cost me more money, 
time, and thought than you can or are likely to 
imagine.” 

“I do not see,” said Mr. Dalrymple, “how that sort 
of thing could be done at all ! The Johannisberg 
people would not allow cuttings to be taken from 
their estate, and I cannot imagine how any one could 
imitate their vines ! ” 

The major smiled slightly. “Of course it would 
take a good deal of study to make one able to com- 
prehend that branch of the subject. But, as I was 
saying, sir, you see before you a vineyard with all the 
characteristics and qualities of a Rhenish vineyard. 
To be sure, our river, the Tardiana, which flows here 
at the foot of the hills, is not so wide as the Rhine 
where it passes the Johannisberg Schloss, but what 
influence, sir, can the width of the river have upon 
the flavor of a grape f ” 

“That may be one of the influences which exist,” 
said Mr. Dalrymple, “but which we cannot perceive.” 

23 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“I may say further,” said the major, “that where 
the Rhine is wider the grapes are not so good. Now, 
sir, in this portion of my vineyard is everything fa- 
vorable to the production of the very best grape which 
can be found in the Johannisberg vineyard, the only 
difference being that one is called Bald Hill and the 
other John’s Mountain. And if my life and health 
hold out a few years longer, I think I shall make it 
evident that as good wine can be produced on the one 
as on the other.” 

“You cannot imitate nature,” said Mr. Dalrymple. 
“What she does for the grapes on the Rhine she is not 
going to do here— at least, I do not think so.” 

Dr. Lester had not yet spoken, but Mr. Dalrymple’s 
tone drew his mind from the contemplation of his 
morning’s disappointment. “You forget, sir,” he said, 
“that the most valuable grapes, as well as the most 
valuable vegetable products of other sorts, are the 
result of man’s work and thought. They are improve- 
ments upon nature. And no good reason has yet been 
offered why Major Claverden should not grow as good 
wine grapes from the vines which he, not nature, placed 
on this hill as are grown on the vines which the Ger- 
mans, not nature, placed on the hills of the Rhine.” 

Mr. Dalrymple glanced at the speaker, who, he 
thought, must be a very poor kind of doctor if he had 
nothing to do but to wander about in this idle way. 
“You might as well try,” he said, “to manufacture an 
Apollinaris spring in one of the cracks or gullies in 
your hills. If you could do that, now, it would be 
worth something.” 

“The rest of my vineyard, sir,” said the major, pay- 
ing no attention to this remark, “is planted with the 
varieties of grape generally grown in this country.” 

24 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


And then, as the party walked hack to the house, 
the major talked of other things than grapes. His 
manner was very courteous during the rest of the 
Dalrymple call, hut in his mind was a fixed determina- 
tion that he would never have anything more to do 
with the man Dalrymple. If his daughter liked the 
ladies and chose to visit them she could do so, hut he 
would never go near the house. If he met the man he 
would treat him politely, hut that would be all. 

The callers soon departed, hut Dr. Lester remained 
to dinner, which, according to the time-honored cus- 
tom of that part of the country, was served somewhere 
between two and three o’clock. 

The two gentlemen had just finished Jieir after- 
dinner pipes when Ardis appeared. She wore a broad 
straw hat, and in one hand she carried a basket. 

“I am going to pick some grapes,” she said, “from 
the vines I reserve for family use. Don’t you want to 
come and help me, doctor 1 ” 

Gates of heaven ! He arose with a spring. 

Dr. Lester stayed to supper ; and he spent the even- 
ing up to ten o’clock playing whist with Miss Ardis, 
her father, and a dummy. When the young lady had 
retired he passed the rest of the evening talking poli- 
tics with the major, with the accompaniment of pipes 
and some apple toddy, which his host mixed with 
much skill and deliberation. 

Dr. Lester stayed all night at Bald Hill, as was 
frequently his custom ; hut he arose very early in the 
morning and rode home on his cream- colored horse. 
“ There is no reason,” he said to himself, “why a man 
who has been as hopelessly happy as I was yesterday 
should expose himself to the possible frosts of break- 
fast-time.” 


25 


CHAPTER III 


Among the several gentlemen whose admiration of 
Miss Ardis Claverden had deepened into an earnest 
affection was Mr. Roger Dunworth, who owned a large 
farm about five miles from Bald Hill. He was a good- 
looking young man, a little over-tall perhaps, a hard 
worker and an able manager. He lived a bachelor life 
in a large house, and his estate, which was partly 
inherited and partly bought from other heirs, was 
productive and kept in admirable condition. His 
family consisted of himself and three young English- 
men who were his pupils in husbandry. This was a 
section of country much affected by English settlers, 
many of whom were young men, often of good family, 
who saw, or thought they saw, in Virginia opportuni- 
ties of becoming landowners and prosperous farmers 
which were totally denied to them in their own coun- 
try. It was their custom to make a more or less sys- 
tematic study of Virginia fashions of country life and 
agriculture, and with this object in view they would 
enter as pupils into the families of such farmers as 
were willing to take them $ thus the English pupil had 
become a not uncommon element in the households in 
that part of the country. 


26 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Although young Dun worth worked hard, superin- 
tended his negro hands, and conscientiously endeavored 
to keep his pupils in paths which should be profitable 
both to them and to himself, he found time for rural 
recreations. He went out with his gun and dogs in 
the hunting season, and he liked at any season to make 
occasional visits to his neighbors. But his most fre- 
quent visits were made to Bald Hill. 

It was now two years— ever since Ardis had finished 
her school life and had taken her place as director of 
her father’s household— that Roger Dun worth had been 
seriously in love with her. He had never mentioned 
this fact to any one, although everybody was well 
aware of it. Ardis perfectly understood the state of 
affairs, but she pursued the tenor of her way— some- 
times even and sometimes otherwise— without regard 
to such condition, and treated the matter so coolly, 
indeed, that many persons thought the affair was set- 
tled, and that the young couple only awaited a suitable 
opportunity to make a public announcement of it. 

Roger Dunworth was a sharp-seeing person, and he 
knew perfectly well that other men loved Ardis, but 
among these he never numbered Dr. Lester. 

The latter, on his part, was as much inclined to be 
reticent in a matter of this sort as was Dunworth ; but 
as he never expected to speak to Ardis on the subject, 
it was a positive relief to him to speak to some one, 
and to no one could he open his mind with greater 
confidence and satisfaction than Jo Bonetti. This 
brother philosophizer was interested in many things 
which interested the doctor. Like the doctor, he 
was thoroughly versed in woodcraft, understood the 
habits of animals, birds, snakes, and insects, could 
27 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


carve wood, and had a cunning hand in making in- 
genious mechanical contrivances. The doctor was a 
well-educated and well-read man, while Bonetti had 
spent but a small portion of his boyhood in school ; 
but the latter had a quick and bright intelligence, and 
in the winter-time read with interest and advantage 
the books his friend lent him. The two belonged 
to very different classes of society, but the sympathy 
between them prevented either of them from paying 
any attention to this. 

Dunworth considered Bonetti the best sportsman in 
the county, and was often glad to have his opinion in 
regard to vines, horses, or the training of a dog ; but 
beyond this he looked upon him merely as a good- 
natured but lazy fellow who ought to do at least 
as much for his wife and daughters as they did for 
him. Had the two lived nearer to each other, it is 
probable that frequently Dunworth would have lent 
Bonetti potato-hooks and other tools, but at the same 
time he would have worried the latter by offering him 
work when he was more agreeably occupied. 

One Saturday morning Dunworth was riding toward 
the town, to which centre of the county’s interests his 
business occasionally took him. Being alone, it was 
natural that his thoughts should be upon Ardis, and 
he was thinking hard. His ideas were not arranged 
systematically, but they had a general tendency, and 
that was toward a determination to speak plainly to 
Ardis on the first favorable opportunity. He had not 
spoken, so far, because he believed that the proper time 
had not arrived. And he was entirely right. He 
could see very well that although Ardis might like 
him and, in a measure, be fond of him, she had not 
28 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


yet come to like him so well that she would be willing 
to accept his love to the exclusion of that of every 
other man. But now he thought he ought to speak. 
In the first place, his love for Ardis had greatly grown 
of late, and was much more difficult to restrain than 
it had been j in the second place, there was every 
reason to believe that the love of other people for the 
girl had also increased and might be difficult to restrain. 
As she had grown physically and mentally, she had 
grown more and more lovely, and, therefore, more 
likely to be loved. 

There was no one in the neighborhood whom Dun- 
worth looked upon as a rival. His fears in this re- 
spect concerned men whom he had never seen, but of 
whom he had heard. These Ardis had met in Wash- 
ington and Hew York, in which cities she had spent 
portions of the past two winters. He had heard of 
these men from Ardis herself, and knew that she had 
a good opinion of them 5 but that she would be likely 
to meet them again, or that any one of them would 
propose to her, he had no particular reason for believ- 
ing. He argued, however, upon the general principle 
that if any one of these pleasant gentlemen should 
meet her again he would be very likely to offer him- 
self to her. In view of such a contingency Dunworth 
had now determined to offer himself before Ardis 
again left Bald Hill. There was no need for hurry 
about it, for winter was still distant, but also there 
was no reason for delay if a good opportunity should 
offer itself. With his mind fully made up on these 
points he entered the town. 

Bolton was only a country town, and not a very 
large one ; but it was the county -seat, and, therefore, 
29 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


a place of general resort to the people of the surround- 
ing country. Its principal street was wide and well 
supplied with shops of various kinds and grades, from 
a large and imposing pharmacy to a little one-story 
house in which a negro cobbler had his shop. On one 
side of this street opened a wide, well-paved place 
generally known as the 11 square,” although it was 
oblong. Here were the bank, the post-office, and 
various places of business, and at its farthest end was 
the railroad station. On the other side of the street, 
a little higher up, was another open space not as large 
as this, and in it stood the court-house. The front 
yard of this building, shaded by trees and moderately 
provided with grass, was the only spot in Bolton which 
in any way resembled a public green. 

On the monthly court-days and on Saturdays the 
town was a busy place. Country people came in from 
all parts, on horseback, in spring- wagons, in wagons 
without springs, and sometimes might be seen a negro 
in a creaking little cart drawn by one mournful and 
diminutive ox. Great wagons with their teams moved 
up and down or stood in the middle of the street, and 
whenever a driver of a vehicle wished to speak to a 
neighbor he stopped wherever he happened to be, and 
the drivers of other vehicles meandered patiently 
around him. There were blacks and whites, with all 
the intermediate shades, and everybody seemed to be 
acquainted with everybody else. 

It was about noon, and Roger Dunworth, having 
finished his business in the town, was untying his horse 
from the front of the post-office, when a dog- cart, 
driven very rapidly, came diagonally across the square, 
and was pulled up, with a great jerk, in front of the 
30 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


post-office. Roger’s horse started at the clatter of the 
wheels, and his master looked np and saluted the oc- 
cupant of the dog-cart. This vehicle was very high, 
with enormous wheels, and its driver looked as if he 
were perched upon the box of* a stage-coach. The 
horse was of moderate size, with light-buff harness and 
a short cropped tail, and suggested the idea that he 
must have a hard time in keeping out of the way of 
the overhanging vehicle behind him. 

No one could for a moment doubt that the young 
man in the dog-cart was an Englishman. He was 
small of stature, with a ruddy, beardless, boyish face, 
and was dressed in a suit of light corduroy, which, con- 
sidering the season, appeared heavy and warm. On 
his head he wore one of those helmet-like structures 
of linen and cork generally preferred in summer by 
Englishmen to the straw hats of America, and his 
countenance and manner indicated high health and a 
constant desire to be doing something with energy. 

“How do you do, Mr. Hunworth? ’’ he cried, spring- 
ing down from the dog-cart and taking Roger’s hand 
with a clap and a grip which would have served better 
to take a culprit by the collar than a friend by the 
hand. 

This individual was Tom Prouter, a young English- 
man who was neither a pupil of husbandry nor an 
intending settler in this country. He was of a good 
English family, with a moderate income and fair ex- 
pectations. He had come to Virginia because he had 
friends there, and because he had learned he could live 
there and enjoy himself for a great deal less money 
than if he remained in England. He made his home 
at the house of one of his friends a few miles from 


31 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Bolton. He kept his horse, his dog-cart, his setter, 
and his gun, and was as happy a young fellow as could 
be found in the State. He was of a very sociable dis- 
position, and was on a friendly footing with many of 
the native families of the neighborhood as well as with 
those of his compatriots. 

“ Going home, Mr. Dun worth ? ” said Prouter. 

“Yes.” 

“Good ! I am goingyour way— at least, part of it. I 
am going to stop at Bald Hill, and I hope the old 
major will ask me to stay to dinner.” 

“I am going to stop there myself,” said Roger. 

“Really?” cried Prouter. “That’s tiptop! Wait 
a minute until I post these letters and see if there is 
any mail for the family. And then I have got to go 
to two or three shops and get the things they have 
given me a list of, and after that I have nothing to 
do in town but to go to the railway station and get 
a time-table for old Miss Airpenny, who is going off 
by train somewhere to-morrow. I shall be with you 
in three minutes.” 

“What nonsense ! ” exclaimed Roger, with a laugh. 
“It will be half an hour or more before you are ready 
to leave town, and I can’t wait here all that time. I 
shall ride on, and perhaps you can catch up with me.” 

“I’ll do it!” cried Prouter. “I’ll be with you be- 
fore you have gone a mile ! ” And he dashed into the 
post-office. 

Dunworth mounted and rode away. He had not 
positively intended to stop at Bald Hill, although he 
had been thinking about it j but Prouter’s statement 
of his intention instantly determined him to do the 
same thing. Since his thoughtful ride that morning 
32 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


his purposes regarding Ardis Claverden had become 
much more definite. He was not jealous of Prouter, 
who knew Ardis but slightly, nor was he afraid of 
him, although a young Englishman, who would one 
day come into a good property and position, should 
not be looked upon with indifference as a rival, if he 
chose to make himself such. But now that Ardis con- 
cerned Roger more than ever before, he felt that her 
male friends concerned him more than ever, and if 
Prouter intended to stop at Bald Hill he would stop 
too. He liked the young Englishman, and would have 
been glad to have his company on the road had he 
been mounted, but Dunworth had no desire to ride 
before, after, or by the side of a rattling dog-cart. 

He reached Bald Hill before Prouter left the town. 
Ardis was not visible, but the major received his vis- 
itor with great cordiality. Dunworth’s horse was 
taken away, and the two men ensconced themselves in 
comfortable chairs on the porch. They had duly dis- 
cussed the country and the crops, and Roger was 
beginning to think that Ardis was a long time in 
making her appearance, when Prouter whirled upon 
the scene, his face in a glow and his horse streaked 
with foam. Throwing the reins on the back of his 
panting beast, he sprang to the ground, and was about 
to lead the animal to a hitching-post, when Major 
Claverden called to him that a man would take his 
horse, and advanced to greet him. 

Prouter instantly turned, and with five steps and a 
jump crossed the grass-plat in front of the house, and 
reached the bottom of the porch steps by the time the 
major was at the top. After the customary saluta- 
tions he turned around uneasily toward the negro who 
33 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


was leading away his horse. He felt it was necessary 
for him to say something. If this were to be merely a 
morning call there was no need that the horse should 
be taken to the stables, and he could not assume that 
the case was otherwise. 

“Do not be disturbed about your horse,” said the 
major, smiling. “My man will not water him before 
he is cooled off, and you will stay to dinner with us.” 

“Thank you very much,” said the relieved Prouter j 
“I shall be glad to do it. I was only thinking if it 
rained some of those parcels in the cart would get 
wet ; two or three of them are sugar, I think.” 

“Have no fear about them,” said the major. “Your 
dog-cart shall be put under cover.” 

And then, fearing that he had made an unnecessary 
imputation, Prouter turned a little redder than usual, 
and, declaring that it made no difference anyway, took 
his seat on a bench at the end of the porch. How the 
interrupted conversation was resumed, and although 
Prouter took very little part in it, he leaned forward 
on his bench with his elbows on his knees and listened 
with an earnest energy which would have encouraged 
the poorest talker. Very soon Ardis made her ap- 
pearance, looking lovely in a white dress with a cluster 
of old-fashioned garden flowers in her belt. She gave 
a gracious welcome to each of the two young men, 
and as Roger took her hand some agreeable thoughts 
flashed into his mind : “She knew I was here. She 
was a long time coming down. She is beautifully 
dressed.” These were thoughts very encouraging to 
a lover. 

The young Englishman greatly enjoyed his dinner. 
“What I like about a meal like this,” he exclaimed 
34 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


with enthusiasm, “is that it is out-and-out American ! 
Now, I don’t mean to say that I do not like an out- 
and-out English dinner better than any other, which 
I do, and expect to have them all my life when I set- 
tle down; but the people at Loch Leven give me 
meals—” 

“I beg your pardon,” interrupted Major Claverden. 
“Is that the present name of Mr. Quantrill’s place? 
It was always called Black Gum Bottom.” 

“They didn’t like that,” said Prouter, “and wanted 
to give it an old-country name, and they have a bit 
of a mill-pond near by. As I was saying, their meals 
are about half naturalized, and are neither one thing 
nor the other. Now, I like everything about me to 
be out-and-out, one thing or the other ! ” 

“And yet,” said the major, “judicious admixtures 
are very valuable. From these have come the first 
results of civilization.” 

“That is very true,” said Prouter, “where it con- 
cerns race-horses or grapes, but I don’t think it works 
with dinners. That sort of thing I like out-and-out, 
like this one.” 

After dinner Major Claverden invited his guests to 
smoke with him on the porch. This invitation was 
accepted with alacrity by Prouter, and with some 
hesitation by Dunworth, who waited a little to see 
what Ardis was going to do. But as she stepped aside 
to speak to a servant, he followed the other gentlemen, 
hoping that Ardis would join the party, for he knew she 
was not afraid of the smell of good tobacco in open air. 

Prouter was soon in a state of great delight over 
the major’s manner of lighting his pipe. A negro boy 
brought on a shovel some glowing embers from the 
35 


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kitchen fire, and with a pair of small tongs made for the 
purpose Major Claverden took up one of these and 
applied it to his well-filled pipe-bowl. 

“Yes, sir/’ said he, in reply to an exclamation from 
the young Englishman, “I never light my pipe with a 
match or piece of burning paper. I always use a coal 
of fire, as did my father before me. Anything else 
would destroy the flavor of the tobacco.” 

“By George, that’s a splendid idea ! ” cried Prouter, 
as he took the tongs and lighted his pipe with a coal. 
“When I settle down I am going to have a little chap 
like that to bring me coals of fire for my pipe.” 

“But in England you ought to be out-and-out Eng- 
lish,” said Dunworth. 

“When I smoke Virginia tobacco,” said Prouter, “I 
am going to be out-and-out Virginian.” 

As he smoked, Roger’s eyes, as well as his thoughts, 
wandered from his company. If he saw Ardis in the 
garden or anywhere about the grounds, he intended 
to j oin her. The maj or had j ust finished his pipe when 
that young lady appeared in the doorway. She had 
changed her dress, and now wore a dark gown with a 
long white apron with a front attachment which came 
up nearly to her throat. This garment was decorated 
with spots and lines of various colors which did not 
appear to have been imprinted thereon in any regular 
design. 

“Gentlemen,” said she, “I want a model.” 

“In that case,” said the major, knocking the ashes 
from his pipe and rising, “ I will give way to these 
younger men. I have done my full duty as a model, 
and will go and look after my people, who are by no 
means models, I assure you.” 

36 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Dun worth and Prouter instantly offered their ser- 
vices to Miss Claverden, and accompanied her to her 
studio. In temperament Ardis Claverden was essen- 
tially artistic. Her father had gratified her inclina- 
tions in this direction, and she had had a more 
thorough instruction in drawing and painting than is 
generally received by girls who are not expected to 
become professional artists. She was very much in 
earnest about her art work, and if she did not actually 
expect to make it her life-work, she had very strong- 
leanings that way. An artistic career appeared to her 
delightful. She would have liked to study in Paris, 
to have an atelier at the top of a tall old house, to 
mingle with the students in the Ecole des Beaux- Arts, 
to copy in the galleries of the Louvre and Luxem- 
bourg, and, after a year or two of all this, to wander 
through Italy and Germany, grafting her own art 
imaginings on those of the masters. Her disposition 
was as much inclined toward the “ out-and-out ” as was 
Prouter’s. 

In disposition Ardis was conscientiously indepen- 
dent. She believed it to be her duty to judge for her- 
self what was right and what was wrong $ and although 
in some cases her decisions came in a flash, in others 
they were slow and carefully weighed. She had once 
thought that it might be well for her to study medi- 
cine and practise among poor people, and she had 
taken Dr. Lester into her confidence on this subject. 
His strong prejudices against women doctors, imbibed 
when he was a student, and his thorough knowledge 
of the vicissitudes and hardships of a physician’s life, 
derived from an intimate acquaintance with all the 
doctors in the county, enabled him to persuade her 
37 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


that a medical career was entirely unsuited to her, 
and this project was thought of no more. To persuade 
her that an artistic career was unsuited to her would 
have been a much more difficult task, inclination being 
such a powerful ally of duty. 

Ardis’s studio was a large building which had once 
been a barn $ but she had totally changed its original 
character and made it entirely suitable for her pur- 
poses. A tall window was put into the northern 
gable, and the large room was fitted up not only con- 
veniently, but elegantly. Her disposition turned her 
toward elegance as well as toward art. 

“Now, gentlemen,” said Ardis, when they had en- 
tered the studio, “which of you will be my model ? ” 

Dunworth was about to ask for what she wanted a 
model, when Prouter declared that he would pose for 
her in any position she desired. “If my face is not 
venerable enough,” he said, “we can doctor it up and 
make it so.” 

“I don’t care anything about a face,” Ardis an- 
swered. “I want a back. I desire to sketch a 
retreating figure.” 

“Very good,” said Prouter, “I can retreat. Shall I 
retreat into a corner? Ho you want me to put on any 
of these costumes?” 

“Your present attire will suit me very well,” said 
Ardis. “And you need not be in such a hurry to re- 
treat ; that is not like a true Englishman. Let me 
show you what I am doing.” And she led them to a 
canvas on an easel. “You see,” she said, “it is a back- 
woodsman just about to shoot at a flying enemy. 
Father stood for the figure in the foreground. He is 
a good sportsman and knew just how to stand and raise 
38 


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his rifle. And now I want the man running away in 
the middle distance.” 

“I’ll suit him exactly,” said Prouter, “for I am 
shorter than Mr. Dun worth, and will not have to go so 
far to give the right perspective.” 

Ardis laughed. “You will answer admirably,” she 
said, “and I will tell you what you must do.” 

She opened a door from which a path led to a little 
grove at a short distance, and Dunworth placed the 
easel near it, replacing the canvas by a drawing-board. 

“Now,” said she to Prouter, “you must run down 
that path until I call to you to stop, and then you 
must try to maintain the position you happen to be 
in, as nearly as you can.” 

When Ardis had taken her seat and was ready to 
sketch, she gave her impatient model permission to 
start. Instantly his heavy shoes beat rapidly on the 
path, and if she had not quickly called to him he 
would have been out of sight among the trees. 

Prouter stopped at the word, one foot in the air, 
and his body well forward. 

“Oh, you can’t stand that way ! ” cried Ardis. 

“Yes, I can ! ” shouted the model, without turning 
his head. “You can go on and put me into your pic- 
ture.” 

“His arms are too close to his side,” remarked Ardis 
to Dunworth. 

“Like a professional runner,” replied the latter. 

Thereupon Ardis called to her model to extend his 
arms somewhat, as if he were flying in terror ; but be- 
fore he could arrange himself to suit her, down came 
his upraised foot, and he stood upright. 

“Can’t keep it up,” he said, turning round. “I 
39 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


didn’t know how hard it was. Shall have to try it 
over again, and stop on a better balance.” 

Prouter now came back and prepared for a second 
run. Ardis instructed him to stop at the proper dis- 
tance, with one foot and the toes of the other on the 
ground, as the extended leg could easily be raised when 
she transferred the sketch to the canvas. 

After a few suggestions from Ardis, Prouter’s new 
position was pronounced a success, and she began to 
draw. 

“Don’t hurry yourself ! ” the model shouted. “I am 
good for all day now ! ” 

Ardis was not a rapid sketcher, and worked care- 
fully and thoughtfully. Dunworth took a seat near 
her, watching her, but not her work ; and as he looked 
upon her his heart drew nearer and nearer to this 
handsome girl, whose large dark eyes gazed out over 
the sunlit path and then came back with quiet earnest- 
ness to the white paper before her, each movement 
giving them a fresh beauty. The blood of the young 
man began to warm, his eyes to brighten. His pur- 
pose to speak his mind to Ardis pressed strongly upon 
him. He had intended to speak in a week, or per- 
haps two weeks, or in a month, whenever he thought 
the proper time had come. But now his purpose 
pressed him very hard. With but an instant’s pre- 
meditation, he spoke to her. 

“Ardis,” he said, “you must know how I love you. 
Will you be my wife? ” 

“No,” she answered quietly, still proceeding with 
her drawing. “And why do you say such a thing to 
me at this time ? ” 

“Simply because I could not help it,” said Roger. 

40 


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“And tell me/’ lie continued earnestly, grasping at 
the hope thus held out, “may I speak later, at a bet- 
ter time?” 

“No,” she answered quickly. “I can tell you now 
as well as at any other time that I do not wish to 
marry you. Mr. Prouter, will you please hold your 
right arm a little higher? You should not ask a girl 
who has her own ideas of life-work and is trying hard 
to carry them out, and to whom new purposes are 
coming all the time, and who is really just beginning 
life, to drop all her aims and aspirations and marry 
you.” 

“Ardis,” he said, “you need not give up anything.” 

“You are mistaken,” she answered, taking up a 
fresh piece of charcoal, “and I say again, I do not wish 
to marry.” 

“Do you mean by that,” said Roger, “that you do 
not wish to marry any one ? ” 

“Exactly,” she answered ; “that is what I mean.” 

“And then,” he asked in a low voice, but with 
vehemence, “if you should change your mind, would I 
have as good a chance as any one ? ” 

“There are no chances for any one,” she said. 

“Then I stand on as good a footing as any other 
man ? ” he persisted. 

“With no footing at all,” she answered, “you are as 
well off as any other man.” 

‘ 1 Then I may be your friend as I have always been ? ” 
said Roger. 

“Precisely as you have always been,” replied Ardis. 
“I shall be glad to have you continue to be that. Mr. 
Prouter,” she called out, “that will do ! Will you 
please come in now?” And as her model came skip- 

41 


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ping back she said to him : “Thank yon very much 
indeed, and I think I have made a good study of a 
retreating figure.” 

Roger arose, and in his heart he said : “If she ex- 
pects to sketch me in that position she is mistaken.” 

“Capital ! ” cried Prouter, regarding the sketch with 
glowing admiration. “I did not know I was such a 
good runner ! I will come and stand for you when- 
ever you want me to. I have nothing to do.” 

“It is a great pity,” said Ardis, “that you have 
nothing to do. But I need not call on you again, as I 
can go on now without a model.” 

When the three returned to the house the young 
men prepared to depart. Major Claverden invited 
them to stay to supper, but Dunworth, who was not a 
man of leisure, declined, and Prouter felt compelled 
to follow his example. 

“Mr. Dunworth,” said the young Englishman, as he 
was about to mount into his dog-cart, “I think I will 
go home with you and spend the night. It is a long 
time since I have seen the boys, and I want to have a 
talk with them.” 

“I shall be delighted to have you do so,” said Dun- 
worth, “but you must take me into your cart, and my 
horse can follow behind.” 

“All right ! ” cried Prouter, as Roger, with his bridle 
in his hand, got into the lofty vehicle, “and if your 
horse doesn’t step out lively, Jerry will pull his head 
off!” 

“The danger is,” said Roger, “that my horse may 
run over us.” 

“We shall see about that ! ” cried Prouter, with a 
crack of his whip. 


42 


CHAPTER IV 


When Prouter and Dunworth arrived at the house of 
the latter, they perceived the three students of hus- 
bandry sitting on a bench which was made of a wide 
plank fastened between the trunks of two trees in a 
shady side yard. Their day’s work was done, and each 
of them was smoking a short brown pipe. Prouter 
jumped to the ground and ran to greet his country- 
men 5 and Dunworth, when he had given the horses in 
charge of a servant, went into the house. 

“How are you, Parchester ? How are you, Skitt? 
How are you, Cruppledean ! ” cried Prouter, shaking 
each by the hand, as, in turn, they arose from the 
bench. “It is a fortnight since I have seen you.” 

“Really ? ” said Parchester. “I did not think it was 
so long.” 

“Nor I,” said Skitt. 

And Cruppledean, the tallest member of the trio, 
resumed his seat upon the bench without a word. 

These pupils of Dunworth were young men of good 
education and belonged to English families of respect- 
ability, but as they had come to Virginia to learn to 
work like farmers, they considered it their duty to 
conform their dress to their idea of the farm-laborer. 
They wore coarse flannel shirts, and their abraded 
43 


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corduroy trousers were tucked into high-topped boots. 
Prouter took his seat on the bench, Parchester moving 
a little nearer to Skitt in order to make room for him, 
and drew from his pocket a short brown pipe and a 
bag of tobacco. 

“Time for a puff before supper?” he said, while 
filling his pipe. 

“Oh, yes,” said Parchester. 

And Prouter, having lighted his pipe with a brim- 
stone match skilfully protected from the wind in the 
hollow of one hand, joined in the puffing of the others. 

“Any news from home?” asked Skitt, removing his 
pipe for a moment. 

“Oh, yes,” said Prouter, pulling from the pocket of 
his shooting-jacket a copy of the weekly London 
“Times,” now twelve days old, and handing it to 
Skitt. “Here is the latest, and I have got the 1 Illus- 
trated News 1 under the cushion of my cart. I’ll leave 
them here, for I have read them.” 

Skitt opened the paper and began to scan the news 
columns. These youths never looked at an American 
journal, and for their knowledge of current events 
depended entirely upon hearsay or the English papers. 

Now the sound of a bell was heard inside the house, 
and the four young men arose from the bench, knocked 
out the contents of their pipes, slipped the warm bowls 
into their pockets, and went in to supper. 

The meal was not entirely an out-and-out American 
one, Dunworth having introduced the English modi- 
fication of large bowls of warm milk for his pupils in 
place of the cold lacteal fluid found on every Virgin- 
ia supper-table ; but there was a great dish of broiled 
ham, a smoking pone of corn meal, hot wheat bread of 
44 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


various kinds, cold bread and toast, coffee for the host, 
and tea for the others. 

The conversation during the meal was animated, and 
was principally upon agricultural subjects, mingled 
with some talk about horses and more about dogs. It 
was noticeable, however, that the tall man, Crupple- 
dean, had very little to say. 

After supper they all went out to the porch, where 
they disposed themselves, some on chairs and some on 
the steps, to have a smoke. Prouter, however, had not 
given three puffs before he sprang to his feet. 

“By jingo ! ” he cried, “I forgot the sugar and the 
rest of the grocery stuff that Mrs. Quantrill asked me 
to fetch to her.” 

“Did she want any of them for supper?” asked 
Skitt. 

“That is more than I know,” said Prouter; “but 
their supper is over and done, and there is no use talk- 
ing about it now.” And down he sat. 

“And how about the time-table for Miss Airpenny ? ” 
asked Dunworth. 

For a moment Prouter’s face assumed a blank ex- 
pression, and then it began to glow again. “Let that 
go in with the sugar,” he said. “She can’t have it to- 
night, and there’s the end of it ! But I will take it 
to her to-morrow morning, long before she ought to 
start for anywhere.” 

“And a jolly time she will have of it to-night,” said 
Skitt, “through not knowing when she is to start on 
her journey to-morrow.” 

“Anyway,” said Prouter, “it’s lots better to forget 
I ought to go home than to go home and forget the 
errands ; so I am that much to the good, anyway.” 

45 


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“ Where is the old lady going?” asked Parchester. 

“I am sure I don’t know,” said Prouter. “She has 
been talking of Afghanistan, and as she has been al- 
most everywhere else, it’s as like as not she is going 
there.” 

“Does she travel alone?” asked Dunworth. 

“I should say so ! ” cried Prouter. “There is not a 
sane person living who would travel with her ! And 
she doesn’t want them, either. She is able to take care 
of herself, and when she can’t get a conveyance she 
walks. I told her she ought to have a tricycle, and 
she turned on me with a snap, and said that as long as 
she had two legs she did not care for three wheels.” 

“I should like to have a better acquaintance with 
Miss Airpenny,” said Dunworth, rising. “She must 
be a good sort of woman.” 

“She is that,” said Prouter, “if you get on the right 
side of her, which I must say has not commonly been 
my luck.” 

Dunworth soon retired to a room on the first floor 
which had been his father’s library and study, and was 
now devoted strictly to his own private use. He did 
not light the lamp upon the table, but seated himself 
in an arm-chair by the open window and gave himself 
up to thinking. 

Of course his thoughts were upon Ardis. She and 
her words had been present to him ever since he had 
spoken to her in her studio, but until that quiet hour 
he had not been able to give up his mind entirely to 
her. Now he so gave it up. His ideas came to him 
in no order. He thought of Ardis as a woman he must 
love, whatever happened, but he also thought of many 
things which must happen if his life were to be a true 
46 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


and happy one. There came to him visions of exist- 
ence with Ardis in contrast with the life he now lived ; 
there came to him many visions of what he would do 
for Ardis and what Ardis would do for him ; and al- 
though most of these were the bright fancies of a 
lover, others were the ideas of a man given to sound 
thinking. 

He did not believe in Ardis’s aims or purposes. 
He had known her so long, and he had known her so 
well, that he was perfectly aware it was necessary for 
her ardent nature to exercise its energies upon some 
engrossing object. That object was now the pursuit of 
art. He believed that some day it would be the love 
of a husband and the happiness of a home. That he 
should be that husband and that that home should be 
his home, was all in all to Roger Dunworth. 

As to his chances he felt a quiet encouragement. 
She had given no reason for declining his offer except 
that she did not wish to marry anybody. This was 
reasonable enough. She was yet young, and very 
many things were occupying her mind ; time might be 
trusted to make room in that mind for love. And, 
again, she had made no objection to him personally, 
and had even told him that his chances of winning her 
were as good as those of anybody else. On the whole, 
he was fairly satisfied. 

“I have told her I love her,” he said to himself, 
“and I have no reason to believe that any other man 
has done this. Say what she may, she cannot forget 
my words, and the remembrance of them must have 
its influence.” 

With this he arose. A clock in the room was strik- 
ing ten. He went out to the front of the house to look 
47 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


for his visitor, but could see uo one. This gave him 
no concern, as his pupils could be safely trusted to en- 
tertain Prouter in whatever way he wished to be en- 
tertained j and thereupon Dunworth went to bed. 

When the four young Englishmen had been left to 
themselves, Skitt remarked that it was a beautiful 
moonlight night, and that it would be a capital notion 
to go down to the fence at the foot of the lawn, and 
sit there and have a smoke, at the same time enjoying 
the beauty of the scene which would be spread out 
before them. To this proposition all agreed, and they 
betook themselves to the fence. When they were well 
seated on the flat top of the broad fence, and had 
begun on their freshly lighted pipes, Prouter ex- 
claimed : 

“What is the matter with you, Cruppledean ? You 
have hardly spoken a word since I came here.” 

“Nothing is the matter,” said Cruppledean, shortly. 

“I’ll tell you what ails him,” said Skitt. “He wants 
to fight.” 

“Fight!” cried Prouter. “Who does he want to 
fight with?” 

“With the governor,” said Skitt. 

“Ho you mean Mr. Dunworth?” 

“Yes, that’s the man,” was the reply. 

“And what have you got against him, Crupple- 
dean?” asked Prouter. “What has he done to you? ” 

“I haven’t anything against him,” said Crupple- 
dean, “and he hasn’t done anything to me. You don’t 
suppose I would stand that, do you? What I want is 
to know which is the better man.” 

“And what is the good of that?” asked Prouter, 
vehemently. “Your governor is a good enough man 
48 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


in many ways, and you are good enough in many ways. 
What is the sense of fighting to find out which is the 
better in that way ? ” 

“I don’t want to work under any man,” said Crup- 
pledean, “ without knowing whether he is the better 
man or I am. That sort of thing is against nature, 
and I won’t stand it ! ” 

“ Stuff and nonsense ! ” cried Prouter. 

“No, it isn’t stuff and nonsense ! ” asserted Crup- 
pledean, with animation. “Here are Parchester and 
Skitt. They are under his size and under his weight ; 
they know he is a better man than either of them, 
and so they are satisfied. But it is different with me. 
I am nearly as tall as the governor, and quite as heavy, 
and I am not going to stand round like a milksop 
without knowing whether he is the better man or I 
am.” 

“Look here, Cruppledean,” cried Prouter, “you let 
Dunworth alone. He is a good fellow, but I don’t 
believe he cares about sparring, and if you try to get 
up a match with him it will make trouble. And you 
are mistaken about height and weight settling the 
question as to which of two men is the better. Do 
you think Dunworth is a better man than I am ? ” 

“Yes, I do,” said Cruppledean. 

“Very well, then,” replied Prouter, “we can settle 
your point without troubling him. Just step out in 
some open place in the moonlight, and we will have a 
few rounds.” 

“Very good,” said Cruppledean, getting down from 
the fence ; “that will settle it one way ; but if I am 
better than you are, that leaves his affair still unset- 
tled.” 


49 


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“Come along,” said Prouter, vigorously striding off 
to a smooth place in a field at the bottom of the hill. 

Here they had a few rounds in the bright light of 
the moon, Parchester and Skitt active as seconds. 
Cruppledean was taller and stronger than his antago- 
nist, with great advantages in length of “reach” $ but 
Prouter, who was an admirable boxer, was so quick and 
lively that he got in as many “good ones ” as did the 
taller man. 

After a very moderate amount of this work the sec- 
onds interfered and declared the affair a drawn fight, 
and that one man was as good as the other. The 
principals thereupon put on their coats and shook 
hands with the utmost friendliness. Both bore evi- 
dences of being somewhat jarred by the encounter, but 
Cruppledean’s spirits were decidedly improved. 

“Are you satisfied now?” asked Prouter. 

“Yes,” said the other, “the thing looks clearer to 
me, and I know where I stand. It does not do for a 
fellow to be uncertain about these points. It weighs 
on his mind. How, I should say that Dunworth and I 
are about even.” 

“Good!” cried Prouter. “I am glad that is all 
straightened out. And now let us go up to the house 
and have a smoke.” 

The party was quietly puffing away on the steps of 
the porch when Parchester suddenly rose to his feet. 
“What is that light out there on the mountain?” he 
exclaimed. 

Each man rose to his feet and looked out in the 
direction indicated. About half a mile away was a 
wide stretch of rising ground which attained consider- 
able elevation at its summit. This formed part of 
50 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Dunworth’s farm, and was known as the “mountain.” 
The upper part was heavily wooded, and among the 
nearer trees a light could be seen moving. 

“What does anybody want of a lantern on a bright 
night like this*?” said Skitt. 

“It is likely to be some one hunting coons,” said 
Parchester. 

“And if it is,” said Cruppledean, “he hasn’t any 
right to do it.” 

“How is that?” asked Prouter. “Does Dunworth 
preserve his coons ? ” 

“Can’t say,” answered Cruppledean, “but I know he 
does not allow the darkies to hunt coons on his place 
without permission.” 

“Is this the season for coons?” asked Prouter. 

“Can’t say,” answered Cruppledean, “but there’s the 
light, and you may be sure some sort of mischief is 
up.” 

“Let’s go after them ! ” said Skitt. 

“Good ! ” exclaimed the others. 

How each man knocked out his ashes and pocketed 
his pipe. Skitt hurried through the open front door 
and quickly returned with three heavy blackthorn 
sticks belonging to himself and his comrades, and a 
loaded riding-whip which he gave to Prouter. Then 
the four dashed off, cleared a fence, and made straight 
across the fields toward the mountain. Each man 
ran at the top of his speed, but Cruppledean’s long 
legs carried him a little ahead of the others. 

When they reached the rising ground they separated 
so as to strike the woods at different points and thus 
cut off the retreat of the miscreants. The light could 
now plainly be seen some distance away among the 
51 


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trees. Cruppledean plunged through the underbrush 
to the north of the light ; Parchester and Skitt rushed 
this way and that among the trees, keeping somewhat 
to the south, while Prouter made a straightaway dash 
directly toward the light. In spite of the bright 
moonlight it was almost dark in the woods, and the 
young men found it difficult to avoid the trees and the 
other objects in their way ; but they pressed on with 
surprising rapidity considering the circumstances, 
each firmly grasping his weapon, and fired with the 
ardor of pursuit. 

Prouter was fortunate enough to strike a wood road 
evidently the course taken by the persons carrying the 
light 5 and running along this, he soon came upon a 
little group composed of an old negro and two half- 
grown boys. The old man carried a lightwood torch, 
and all three stood still, quaking in their much-worn 
shoes at the sound of pursuers crashing toward them, 
apparently from all quarters. 

“Lor 7 bress my soul ! ” cried the old man, as Prouter 
plunged at him with upraised whip. “Wot’s de mat- 
ter, sah? Wot you gwine do? 77 And the three 
negroes scuttled back against the trunk of a great tree. 

“What are you going to do?” cried Prouter, still 
brandishing his whip. “What do you mean by com- 
ing here to hunt coons ? ” 

“Bress your soul, sah!” exclaimed the man. “Ps 
huntin’ no coons ! I come heah to look fer my black 
hog wot git away dis mawnin’.” 

At this moment Cruppledean came up, and Parches- 
ter and Skitt quickly appeared. With upraised cud- 
gels the party surrounded the negroes, the torch 
throwing the only light upon the scene. 

52 


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“He says he is looking for his- hog/’ said Prouter. 

“Gammon!” cried Crnppledean. “It must be 
nearly twelve o’clock. A pretty time to be looking 
for a hog ! ” 

“But I tell you, sah,” said the old man, “I done 
begin to look fer him as soon as I got froo my work. 
I tell you, sah, it takes a long time to look fer a hog 
when he gits away in de mawnin’.” 

“I bet five to three, and make it shillings,” said 
Parchester, “that he is after coons.” 

“Bress your soul, sah,” said the negro, turning to 
him, “who wants coons or possums, airy one, when 
dey ain’t fat yit? An’ whar’s de axe or de dogs I got 
to hunt ’em wid?” 

“Do they hunt coons with axes and dogs?” asked 
Prouter. 

“Yes,” said Crnppledean, “I have heard they do.” 

Prouter and the pupils now stood and looked at the 
negroes, the two boys crouching behind their father as 
if they expected at any moment to get a rap over the 
head. 

“Well, then,” presently remarked Skitt, “if he really 
is looking for his hog we may as well let him go on 
and look for it.” 

“Which I most sart’inly is, sah,” said the man. 

“But look here,” said Prouter, “if you do come into 
this wood looking for hogs, don’t you look for them as 
if you were hunting coons. Do you hear that? ” 

“Yes, sah,” said the man. 

And as there now seemed nothing more for them to 
do, the four self-constituted keepers turned to depart. 
The negro politely preceded them with his torch to 
light them out of the woods, and when they reached 
53 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


the open each young man put his hand in his pocket 
and tipped the torch-bearer. 

“If it weren’t so late/’ said Cruppledean, “we would 
go with you and help you hunt your hog.” 

“Much obliged, sah, but I reckon you’d skeer him 
wuss dan you’d ketch him.” 

The party walked gayly down the declivity and over 
the fields, and when they reached the house they sat 
down to resume the smoke which had been inter- 
rupted. When this was finished they went indoors, 
and Skitt, who was a careful man, shut the front door 
after him. They went into the dining-room, where a 
light was burning, and Cruppledean produced a bottle 
of spirits, apologizing to Prouter for not having any 
hot water ; it being so late, of course the kitchen fire 
was out. Parchester produced some hard biscuit and 
cheese from the sideboard, and each man having 
mixed his drink to suit himself, they partook of a 
light supper. 

Cruppledean now proposed that they should go out 
on the porch and have a smoke $ but Parchester de- 
clared that if they intended to work the next day they 
must go to bed, and this being generally agreed to, 
they took lamps and went up -stairs. Cruppledean 
and Skitt occupied a large bedroom, and across the 
hall was Parchester’s room, with a spare bed in it for 
Prouter. 

Cruppledean seated himself by the open window of 
his room to have a smoke, and Skitt went to bed. In 
the other room, Prouter, his coat off and one shoe in 
his hand, sat for some minutes immersed in thought. 

“Parchester,” he said, “come into Skitt’s room. I 
have something I want to say to all of you.” 

54 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


And unevenly clumping across the hall, he seated 
himself on a corner of the table in the other bedroom. 

“ Fellows,” said he, “I have just been making up my 
mind. I am going to do something ! ” 

“Then why don’t you go and do it?” asked Skitt, 
who was sleepy. 

Disregarding this remark, Prouter went on : “I am 
the only fellow among you who doesn’t work. You 
all work, Dunworth works, the Quantrills work, every 
one of them, and even old Miss Airpenny works. I 
don’t do anything. I just go around with my hands in 
my pockets and look at other people work. I am 
going to stop it. I am ashamed of it. I began to be 
ashamed of it yesterday when a pretty girl said to me 
—the prettiest girl, by the way, I ever laid eyes on—” 

“Who was it?” asked Skitt, with awakening ani- 
mation. 

“Miss Claverden,” said Prouter. 

“You are right there ! ” exclaimed Parchester, while 
the now awakened Skitt offered to bet his head on the 
fact, and even Cruppledean gave an affirmative nod. 

“She said to me,” continued Prouter, “when I told 
her that I was ready any day to stand as a model for 
her, having nothing to do—” 

“A model ! ” cried Parchester. “A pretty model 
you’d make ! ” 

“Well, she only took my back,” said Prouter, “so 
you need not be jealous. And she said to me, when I 
told her I had nothing to do, ‘That is a pity ! ’ And 
ever since I have been thinking it is a pity. Now I 
am going to stop it ! I intend to work ! ” 

“What are you going to do?” said Cruppledean. 

“That is the rub,” said Prouter, “or, at least, that 
55 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


was the rub until a little while ago. Now I have set- 
tled it. I am going to start a milk route.” 

The three pupils burst into a roar of laughter. 

“You needn’t laugh/’ said Prouter. “I have got it 
all straightened out in my mind. It is of no use for 
me to try a farm, or to grow vines or wool, or to go 
into anything of that sort. I don’t know how, and 
haven’t time to learn. But I can manage a milk route 
just as well as anybody. I have been watching a 
milk route lately, and know exactly how the thing is 
done. It will be just the sort of business I like. 
Lively and brisk ! Lots of cutting around to see if 
the cows are all right and the men at their work, the 
wagons all started off bright and early, the customers 
all satisfied. I’m wild to get at it. By jingo ! I will 
go down and tell Dunworth ! ” 

And before his laughing friends could stop him he 
had clumped down the stairs to the room on the first 
floor where the master of the house slept, and knocked 
loudly on the door. Dunworth had been asleep three 
or four hours, and awoke with a start. 

“Hello ! ” he cried. 

Prouter opened the door and put in his head. 

“What is it?” exclaimed Dunworth, sitting up in 
bed. “Is it fire?” 

The room was but dimly lighted by the moon, but 
Prouter could see that Dunworth was just about to 
spring out of bed. “No,” cried the young English- 
man, “I am going to start a milk route.” 

“What ! ” exclaimed Dunworth. 

“I am going to start a milk route,” repeated 
Prouter; “and I thought it mean to let the other 
fellows know without coming to tell you too.” 

56 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


At this moment Dun worth jumped heavily to the 
floor ; hut before he could reach the door Prouter shut 
it with a jerk and sped up-stairs, one shoe off and one 
shoe on, and his breast full of merriment and rap- 
turous enthusiasm. He talked but little more of his 
plans, because the others insisted that he should go to 
bed and let them sleep $ but before sunrise the next 
morning he had harnessed his horse Jerry to his dog- 
cart and had driven away at top speed to take the 
sugar and grocery stuff to the Quantrills, to give the 
time-table to Miss Airpenny, and to make arrange- 
ments for the starting of his milk route. 


57 


CHAPTEK Y 


Dr. Lester lived in a small house which stood in the 
spacious yard of a large house. The latter building 
had been partially burnt years before, and was now 
uninhabited. It belonged to members of Dr. Lester’s 
family, and while living in the small house he was 
enabled to keep an eye upon the property. It may 
also be said that it suited him perfectly to live by him- 
self in this independent manner. About a quarter of 
a mile away was a cabin in which dwelt an old negro 
woman who cooked for him and attended to his house. 

The doctor was a good friend to all the colored peo- 
ple in the neighborhood. They came to him for ad- 
vice and information and for the solution of knotty 
points of difference. Only in one respect could they 
expect no counsel from him. He would not prescribe, 
even for the most trifling ailment. If anything were 
the matter with their bodies he would send them to a 
doctor, and he had been known in urgent cases to go 
himself for a physician to attend to some suffering 
negro. But to a question involving negro notions of 
law and equity he would give his most earnest atten- 
tion and thought, and his decisions were generally 
accepted as final. 

The doctor’s house consisted of one large room, with 
a little adj oining chamber in which he slept. The walls 
58 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


of the large room were lined with books, nearly all of 
them old and of a standard character, and specimens 
of minerals, dried plants, animals, and birds occupied 
every available shelf and corner. A work -bench stood 
at one window, a turning-lathe near by ; and wherever 
there was room for them could be seen little machines 
and contrivances, or articles of use and ornament, which 
the doctor had made, and which indicated an untiring 
industry joined with skill and ingenuity, but without 
commensurate aim. 

Dr. Lester was sitting by his open door in a large 
leather arm-chair, the cushions of which were so 
worn into hollows that they would have been a torture 
to any one who had not, like the doctor, learned to 
adapt himself to their eccentricities. Opposite to him, 
on a smaller chair, sat Bonetti. Both were smoking 
pipes with long reed stems and bowls made of the red 
Powhatan clay so much prized by Virginians of the 
older school. The afternoon was bright and cheerful ; 
the doctor was glad to have some one drop in on him ; 
and Bonetti was in his usual good humor. But now 
for some minutes neither had spoken a word. Bonetti 
much desired to talk about Miss Claverden, and to 
find out what the doctor had said, done, or thought in 
the direction of that young lady since he had last seen 
him. But there were times when the doctor did not 
care to talk upon this subject, and as this might be one 
of those timeSj Bonetti hesitated about broaching his 
questions. 

Suddenly he started. “Ho!” he cried, “here she 
comes ! ” 

“Who?” asked the doctor, looking quickly toward 
the door. 


59 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“Miss Ardis,” said Bonetti. “She is coming down 
the road in the open carriage with the bay horses, and 
George is driving with his high-top hat on. She is 
coming in style .’ 7 

The doctor gave one look outside, then sprang to his 
feet, put down his pipe, and stepping to a small look- 
ing-glass, swiftly combed his somewhat rumpled hair, 
brushed the collar of his coat, and approached the 
door. 

“Where are you going?” said Bonetti. 

“I shall speak to her as she passes,” said the doctor. 

Bonetti also put down his pipe and went out. But, to 
the surprise of the two men, the carriage did not pass $ 
it turned into the grass-grown driveway at the other 
end of the yard, and sweeping past the ruined house, 
stopped before the doctor’s door. 

Miss Ardis sat alone in the carriage. She was hand- 
somely dressed in a costume which would have been 
suited to a round of city calls, but with some of that 
additional touch of the picturesque which is allowable 
in the country. She carried a large light-colored 
parasol, and on her face was a smile of friendly greet- 
ing. 

“How do you do, doctor?” she said, extending her 
hand. 

The doctor gently enveloped the little tan-colored 
glove in his large, sinewy hand. His bare head was 
bowed a little, as if he had been momentarily impressed 
with an emotion of reverence. Bonetti stood a little 
in the rear of the doctor, his hat in his hand. 

“How do you do, Mr. Bonetti?” said Ardis, in the 
same cheerful, friendly tone in which she had spoken 
before, but she did not extend her hand. 

60 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“Dr. Lester,” said Ardis, “I am on my way to the 
Dalrymple place, and I have stopped here to ask a 
favor of you.” 

“The thing shall be done, Miss Ardis,” said the doc- 
tor, “whatever it may be.” 

She looked at him with a little sparkle in her eye. 
“Never smoke again ! ” she said solemnly. 

The doctor opened his eyes wide, and on Bonetti’s 
face there came a look of astonishment ; but before 
either of them could speak Ardis laughed and said : 
“Don’t be frightened, doctor. That was merely to 
show you how, if I chose, I could punish you for mak- 
ing such rash promises.” 

“I trust so implicitly to your generosity and justice, 
Miss Ardis, that I am not afraid to make a blind 
promise to you.” 

“Take my advice,” said she, “and never trust any- 
body so far as that. And now for my business. 
Father has invited a gentleman to come and stay at 
our house for some days— indeed, I don’t know for how 
long. Father will take care of him sometimes, of 
course, but I don’t believe our visitor cares very much 
for grape-vines or farming, and I am afraid time 
will hang heavy on his hands. I want the gentlemen 
of the neighborhood to call on him, and especially 
you, doctor, for you can help ever so much to make 
his time pass pleasantly. And I may send him to you, 
Mr. Bonetti, if he needs a guide and adviser in any 
outdoor explorations.” 

“I shall be glad to do anything I can for a friend of 
yours, Miss Ardis,” said Bonetti. 

“Is the gentleman a middle-aged man or a young 
one ? ” asked the doctor. 


61 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“He is moderately young / 7 said Ardis. 

“Is he a city man ? 77 he asked. 

“Yes / 7 she said, “but I know he likes the country, 
and has travelled almost everywhere, I believe. He 
is Mr. Surrey of Washington. Will you not ask some 
of the gentlemen to call on him— I know he is fond 
of company— Mr. Dunworth, for instance, and those 
young Englishmen who are at his house ? They are 
very pleasant young men . 77 

“All you have to do is to speak to Dunworth about 
that / 7 said the doctor. “I am sure he is at your ser- 
vice in every way . 77 

“But I don’t care to go about the country / 7 said 
Ardis, with a laugh, “asking young men to come to 
see another young man. I wish you would mention 
the matter to Mr. Dunworth some time soon . 77 

“Of course I will do that, Miss Ardis / 7 said the 
doctor ; “but it seems to me it is not such a very long 
time ago since I saw you ride at full gallop up to Dun- 
worth’s door, with your two dogs after you, and invite 
him and everybody else to Bald Hill to supper and a 
dance afterwards . 77 

“Your memory goes back more years than you sup- 
pose,” said Ardis, laughing. “That sort of thing may 
have been, but it is not. Haven’t you noticed that peo- 
ple sometimes grow older, doctor ? N ow, I may depend 
on you to help us entertain Mr. Surrey, may I not ? 77 

“You may always depend upon me,” said the doctor. 

“Thank you ever so much,” said Ardis, and with a 
farewell smile and nod, which included them both, she 
drove away. 

The doctor stood silent, his eyes on the swiftly de- 
parting carriage. 


62 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


u Suppose, ” said Bonetti, reflectively, “she were to 
say to you : ‘ There are a number of persons who are 
trying to marry me, and if any one of them succeeds, 
misery will come upon me. You are the only one who 
can protect me from this danger. If you will marry 
me, I am safe.’ What would you say in such a case ? ” 

“ Bonnet,” cried the doctor, “if you had lived in the 
middle ages they would have made you a mental tor- 
turer ! How dare you rack me in that way— and 
at this moment, too f ” 

“I merely wanted to know,” said Bonetti, “if there 
was anything that would make you let go your resolu- 
tion ; but if you are not prepared to answer, no matter. 
It seems to me that she has not given you a very 
agreeable piece of business. 

“Agreeable ! ” exclaimed the doctor. “I should say 
not ! It would suit me much better to make it un- 
pleasant for a young city man coming into these parts 
than to make him want to stay.” 

“But you are going to make it pleasant for him?” 
said the other. 

“Bonnet,” replied Dr. Lester, “if she were to ask me 
to sit on a hot rock and bake batter- cakes for Apollyon, 
I would do it ! But I don’t pretend to say that I 
would like it.” 

As Bonetti walked slowly homeward, about half an 
hour afterwards, he said to himself : “I have made 
supposes about most of the fixes that Dr. Lester could 
get himself into concerning this matter, but there is 
one thing that I haven’t worked up yet, and that is 
what will happen when Miss Ardis finds out how Dr. 
Lester thinks about her. She hasn’t the least notion 
of it now ; that’s as plain as daylight. And the main 
63 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


point of the matter is not so much what she will 
do when she finds it out as what he will do when 
she has done what she will do when she finds it out.” 
And pondering on this question, the philosophizer 
pursued his leisurely way. 


64 


CHAPTER VI 


When Ardis Claverden had driven away from Dr. 
Lester’s door, and had reached the highroad, she 
leaned forward to her coachman and said : “ George, 
those horses have been doing nothing for two days. 
Now, don’t let them loiter on the road ! ” 

George was a dashing coachman as well as a skilful 
one, and for that reason his position in the Bald Hill 
establishment was secure. Sympathizing thoroughly 
with the liking of his young mistress for rapid motion, 
he touched up his two bays— both animals of good 
blood, raised, broken, and trained on the Bald Hill 
farm. They did not loiter, but with swift strides sped 
over the road. Bowling over the smooth stretches, 
dashing up the hills with a strong, hard trot, but pull- 
ing up to a slower pace on the descents, cautiously 
and skilfully passing over the stony spots, but not 
always with slackened speed, with his horses tossing 
their heads in their enjoyment of their free, swift 
motion, George drew up at the Dalrymple house before 
even Ardis thought there had been time to get there. 

Ardis was but slightly acquainted with this family, 
but they were new-comers, and she was very willing to 
be civil to them and, should there be reason for it, to 
be friendly with them. 


65 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


On the other hand, Mrs. Dalrymple disliked Ardis, 
or, as she would have put it, disapproved of her. She 
considered her manner of life as entirely too indepen- 
dent for a young girl. She thought Miss Claverden 
should have an elderly lady to live in the house and 
chaperon her. She did not think a young woman 
should be driving around the country by herself, and 
although she knew of nothing unseemly that Ardis 
had ever done, except allowing her coachman to dash 
up a driveway at an improper rate of speed, she felt 
assured that an independent young woman who would 
do such an unseemly thing would do a great many 
other unseemly things. 

Miss Dalrymple could not make up her mind 
whether she disliked Ardis or envied her. There 
were often times when she would have liked to do as 
she pleased, but there were also times when she looked 
with aversion upon people who did as they pleased. 
Should she ever decide to imitate Ardis, she would 
probably be a blind follower of her as far as circum- 
stances would allow ; but should she decide to disap- 
prove of her, her disapproval would be very strong. 
At present Miss Cecilia Dalrymple did not wish to 
commit herself in any way, and her few remarks did 
not add to the interest of the conversation. 

Mr. Dalrymple liked Ardis. When he returned 
from the call at Bald Hill he spoke very highly of her. 
He said he thought she was a fine, spirited girl of re- 
markably pleasant manners, and very handsome, and 
he thought it might be a very good thing for Cecilia 
if the two were to become friends. But these remarks 
had no influence, or at least no favorable influence, on 
the opinions of his wife and daughter ; and as he was 
66 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


not at home that afternoon, his good opinion of Ardis 
was of no advantage in making her call a pleasant one. 

“Did you not say the other day,” remarked Ardis to 
Mrs. Dalrymple, “that you have a son whom you ex- 
pect here shortly f ” 

Mrs. Dalrymple opened her eyes and hardened her 
mouth. She would have glanced at her daughter, hut 
Ardis was looking at her. “Yes,” said she, “I have a 
son, and we expect him in a few days.” 

“I am glad to hear it,” said Ardis, “because there is 
to be a gentleman at our house who, I fear, will find 
the place very dull. We shall be so glad if your son 
will call upon him. It would be difficult to regulate 
the etiquette in such a case, I suppose. Father visits 
very little, and it is scarcely to be expected that he 
should call on a young man, and of course there is no 
one else in our house to do it.” 

“I should say not,” remarked Mrs. Dalrymple, very 
decidedly. 

“But out here in the country,” continued Ardis, 
“we get over those things in as easy and as friendly a 
way as possible ; and if your son should ride down and 
see father and Mr. Surrey, I am sure they would both 
be delighted.” 

Mrs. Dalrymple made no promises for her son. She 
thanked Ardis and passed to another subject. 

When the visitor arose the two ladies accompanied 
her to the door, and as the carriage drove away Mrs. 
Dalrymple looked after it and remarked : “I hope I 
shall never see you, Cecilia, driving about the country 
by yourself in that way ! ” 

At that moment Cecilia was thinking that it would 
be the most delightful thing in the world to sit alone 
67 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


in a carriage like that, and be driven wherever she 
wanted to go, and just as fast as she wanted to go. 

“And never in my life, 7 ’ continued Mrs. Dalrymple, 
“did I hear anything as barefaced as that girl’s speech ! 
Actually to ask me to send my son to see her ! I 
wouldn’t have expected that, even of Miss Ardis 
Claverden ! ” 

Cecilia’s mind was on the point of revolving, but 
the influence of the carriage was still strong upon her. 
“I don’t suppose that Egbert would care for a girl like 
that,” she said abstractedly. 

As Ardis drove away the air seemed pleasanter to 
her, the sky brighter above her, than she had remem- 
bered it as she drove toward the house. She did not 
know that Mrs. Dalrymple did not like her, or that 
Miss Dalrymple was in doubt about her, but the sense 
of relief which came upon her as she left them, al- 
though she did not recognize its true nature, was 
agreeable to her. 

“Now I will go to Heatherley,” she said to George. 

A drive of about three miles, the last portion of 
which was on a private road through pasture-land, 
brought them to a large house which stood well in 
upon its own domain. This was the homestead of the 
Crantons, a family of large size and extensive ramifi- 
cations. The house had once been in better condi- 
tion ; the family had once been richer ; but there was 
an air of life and movement about the place which 
made it much more interesting and attractive- than 
many of the better houses of richer people. There 
were dogs on the porch and dogs wandering here and 
there around the house. A flock of turkeys scattered 
themselves over the lawn, which sloped by several 
68 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


natural terraces down to a little stream, or “branch.” 
Some colts scampered through the apple orchard which 
stretched itself around three sides of the house. Little 
darky children sat playing on the grass. A large 
negro girl, holding in her arms a very little one, stood 
gazing at the new-comers. At a cluster of log cabins, 
a short distance from the house, colored women were 
coming and going. Two stout negro boys were cutting 
wood. On a grassy road by the branch a long line of 
cows were coming in from pasture, a small boy in the 
rear cracking a home-made whip. A heavy farm- 
wagon, laden with great logs of wood and drawn by 
four horses, with a colored man on the near wheeler, 
bestriding a brass-mounted army-saddle and wearing 
enormous high boots, came creaking up toward the 
wood- cutters. Altogether, the place much resembled 
a Southern farm of the olden time. 

Ardis ran up the steps of the porch, patting the 
heads of two or three dogs as she did so, while George 
drove over to the cabins to have a chat with his friends 
and, possibly, relatives. There was nobody in the 
great hall, nobody in the parlor, the door of which 
stood wide open, nobody in the dining-room, and no- 
body on the stairs. But Ardis, who felt perfectly at 
home, knew where to go to look for her particular 
friend Norma, whom especially she had come to see. 

Norma Cranton was the housekeeping daughter of 
the family, and Ardis’s intimate acquaintance with her 
disposition and habits prompted her to make her way 
directly to the store-room. In this large, well-filled 
room she found Norma, a long apron reaching from 
her chin to her toes, and her plump face a little dap- 
pled with flour, sitting before a small table on which 
69 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


were spice-boxes and a cookery book. Norma was 
short, somewhat stoutly built, with a pleasing face, a 
genial nature, and passionately fond of Ardis. She 
sprang to her feet, and forgetting the existence of 
such a thing as flour, kissed her visitor again and 
again. The colored woman who was assisting Norma 
brought a chair for Ardis, and then departed, knowing 
that work for the present was suspended. 

“What I particularly came for,” said Ardis, pres- 
ently, “is to ask you to come and spend a few days 
with me, or perhaps a week, or it may be even longer.” 

“Now?” asked Norma. 

“Yes ; to-morrow.” 

“Simply impossible,” said Norma. “To-morrow I 
begin to preserve peaches. I have bushels of them all 
ready. Why do you want me now ? ” 

“Father has invited a gentleman to come and stay at 
our house,” said Ardis. “It was a most unexpected 
thing to me. This gentleman, Mr. Surrey, I met last 
winter at Aunt Mabel’s in Washington, and the other 
day he wrote to me that he was coming to Bolton for 
a few days, and asked permission to call on me. I 
mentioned the matter to father, and he immediately 
sat down and wrote to Mr. Surrey, inviting him to 
stay at our house during his sojourn in this neighbor- 
hood. The fact that he was a friend of his sister 
Mabel was enough for father. Of course I was dread- 
fully disturbed when I heard that the letter had gone, 
but there was no help for it then, and I said nothing 
about it. Father interferes so little in the manage- 
ment of these things that I could not bear to find fault 
with him for this.” 

“Is he a young man?” asked Norma. 

70 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“Well, he is not exactly a young man,” said Ardis, 
“but I don’t believe he is thirty. He has been mar- 
ried once, and his wife soon died and left him with a 
little son, now four years old. There is something 
very odd about this, for the child is rich, the property 
coming from the mother’s family, while Mr. Surrey 
has no money to speak of. He has not even the care 
of his boy.” 

“How did that come about?” asked Norma. 

“Aunt Mabel told me the story, but I don’t remem- 
ber it exactly,” said Ardis. “But the point is that a 
grandfather made a will by which Mr. Surrey was not 
to have anything to do with the boy’s money or the 
child himself. And of course Mr. Surrey had to agree 
to that or else keep his son out of a fortune.” 

“I wouldn’t have given up one of my sons for any 
fortune ! ” said Norma. “And if this gentleman is a 
widower, I suppose your father thinks him an elderly 
man.” 

“I have no doubt of it,” said Ardis, “though I never 
thought of that before. But I do know that he ex- 
pects Mr. Surrey to be his visitor, and I am sure he 
will find he is mistaken. That man, I am sure, 
prefers the society of young people to that of his 
elders, and it will simply end in his being thrown on 
my hands.” 

“Is he good-looking?” asked Norma. 

“In a certain way, yes,” said Ardis. “He is rather 
too florid, and somewhat inclined to be heavy ; but he 
is very bright and lively and full of fun, and that often 
makes him look handsomer than he really is.” 

“And how long is he going to stay?” said Norma. 

“I really do not know— certainly a few days ; but 
71 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


father will keep him with us as long as he is down 
here. He comes on business, I think. But, as I told 
you, Norma, I know very well that he is not going to 
be father’s visitor ; and so I have asked Dr. Lester to 
come to see him, and to get some of the young men of 
the neighborhood to drop in. Will not your brother 
Curtis come ? ” 

“My dear Ardis,” cried Norma, “you know Curtis is 
so bashful that if you were to ask him to call on a gay 
city gentleman, he would betake himself to the woods 
and stay there.” 

“Curtis or no Curtis, I intend to have Norma,” said 
Ardis. 

“But, Ardis,” exclaimed Norma, “you see how I am 
situated ! To-morrow I must go to work at my peaches, 
and the next day there will be ever so much that will 
have to be straightened out. The day after that I 
might go to you, perhaps, for a day or two.” 

“Norma,” said Ardis, “Mr. Surrey is coming the day 
after to-morrow. I want you in the house with me 
when he arrives.” 

“But, Ardis-” 

“No buts,” said Ardis. “Everything can be ar- 
ranged. I shall stay here and help you with your 
peaches. I will go now and send George home with a 
message to father that I am to be sent for to-morrow 
evening, and that I shall take you to Bald Hill with 
me. We can get up very early to-morrow morning, 
you shall lend me one of your old dresses, and those 
peaches shall all be in their jars and everything 
straightened out in time for us two to get to Bald 
Hill to supper.” 

And without waiting to hear her friend’s remarks on 
72 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


this arrangement, Ardis ran out to send George and 
the carriage home. 

Very early the next morning the two girls were up 
and at work— Ardis in a blue-spotted calico gown, 
somewhat too short and a good deal too wide for her, 
and with a white apron fastened up under her chin. 
All the colored assistance which could be conveniently 
employed was called in, and throughout the morning 
and a portion of the afternoon the paring, the stoning, 
the cutting, the boiling, the bubbling, the sweetening, 
the tasting, the dipping, the pouring, and the talk 
went on. Ardis lent a hand to everything, but, besides 
the work she did herself, she found time to make others 
work as they had never worked before. She would 
even run out to hasten the motions of the boys who 
were cutting the wood which the great stove so steadily 
devoured. 

About four o’clock in the afternoon everything was 
finished except a few little matters of “ straightening 
out ” which Norma could very well attend to by her- 
self, and Ardis, heated and quite satiated with the 
smell of cooking peaches, went out into the air and 
took a seat on the shaded front porch. She had been 
sitting here but a few minutes when a white boy 
mounted on a large, fine horse rode up to the house. 

“Is Mr. Curtis in?” he asked. 

“No,” said Ardis, “he is out at work on the low- 
lands.” 

“Is any of the men here? ” said the boy. 

“They are all out with Mr. Curtis. I know that he 
took every one of them.” 

“Is Harrison Cranton here?” asked the boy. 

“No,” said Ardis, with a smile, “even Harrison has 
73 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

gone with his brother. Is there anything I can do for 
you?” 

“No, ma’am/’ said the boy, with a doleful expres- 
sion. “One of the young steers that was just bought 
has got away and is going home just as fast as he can, 
and Tom Harris put me on this horse and told me to 
go after him. But the steer he keeps a-runnin’, and I 
can’t get ahead of him with this horse.” 

“Are you afraid of the horse?” asked Ardis. 

“I’m not afraid of him when he walks, but when I 
make him go fast he charges, and when he charges he 
skeers me, so I just turned him in here, reckonin’ Mr. 
Curtis was home.” 

“And you thought if Mr. Curtis were here he would 
get on the horse and head off the steer for you ? ” asked 
Ardis. 

“Yes, ma’am,” said the boy. “He wouldn’t care if 
the horse charged all he had a mind to.” 

Ardis came forward to the steps and looked at the 
horse. He was a magnificent animal. She had been 
shut up all day in a hot and stifling room. “Wait one 
minute,” she said to the boy, “and everything shall be 
made right for you.” And with this she went into the 
house and ran up -stairs. 

In one of the rooms she found an old riding-skirt 
belonging to Norma. This she quickly slipped on, 
and from the room of the boy Harrison she took a 
pair of his top-boots, which she found fitted her very 
well. She dashed into her room, got her gloves, and 
ran down-stairs. She took a soft felt hat from the 
rack, put it on, and went out to the boy. 

“I will ride your horse and go after the steer,” she 
said. “I feel just like taking a good gallop ! ” 

74 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“Oh, ma’am/’ cried the hoy, “this isn’t the kind of 
horse for a lady to ride ! ” 

“Any kind of a horse is the kind for me to ride,” 
said Ardis, going down the steps, “except a poor one. 
Now get down, and I will hold him while you run to 
the carriage-house and bring that side-saddle that you 
will see hanging on a peg close to the door.” 

The boy looked astonished, but got down. “He’ll 
run away with you,” he said deprecatingly, as his feet 
touched the ground. 

“I’ll attend to that!” said Ardis. “And yon be 
quick, or your steer will get entirely away.” 

The boy ran to the carriage-house and soon returned 
with the saddle. Under Ardis’s directions he quickly 
put it on the horse, in place of the one on which he 
had ridden, and then, having carefully examined the 
girth and the stirrup, she prepared to mount. “Lead 
him up here ! ” she said, as she stood on one of the porch 
steps. But the horse tossed his head and refused to 
turn around so that she could reach him. 

“Go on that side of him and give him a good 
smack ! ” said Ardis. 

The boy, half frightened at his own presumption, 
gave the horse a “smack,” and the animal moving with 
a start toward the steps, Ardis laid hold of the pommel 
and sprang into the saddle. Quickly giving herself a 
firm seat, she took the bridle from the boy, and with 
a little help from him she put her foot in the stirrup. 
The horse wheeled around as soon as the boy released 
the bridle, and Ardis called out : “Oh, I forgot the 
whip ! Run in and get me one from the rack, please ! ” 

“Oh, you mustn’t hit him ! ” exclaimed the boy. 
“If you hit him he’ll jump right out of his skin ! ” 

75 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“I will hit him just hard enough to make him jump 
nearly out of his skin, but not quite / 7 said Ardis. 
“Get me the whip ! 77 

The boy said no more, but brought her a heavy rid- 
ing-whip which belonged to Mr. Curtis. 

“It is too big , 77 said she, “but no matter. Which 
way did your steer go ? 77 

“He 7 s gone up the road, and if he finds a break in 
the fence he 7 ll cut across the fields and git into the 
woods, and if he does that we 7 ll never ketch him. 
He’ll go straight through to Page County, where he 
was raised . 77 

“Take your saddle down to the gate , 77 said Ardis, 
“and wait for me there . 77 

At first the horse appeared inclined to be dissatis- 
fied with his rider ; he danced sidewise and made 
one or two revolutions $ but a sharp tap on the flank 
and a firm hand on the bit soon brought him to his 
senses, and he started off on a quick trot. Out on the 
highroad Ardis could see nothing of the fugitive steer, 
but urging her horse into a gallop, she soon caught 
sight of the animal far up the road. 

A dash of a few minutes brought the sound of her 
horse 7 s hoofs to the ears of the young steer. He threw 
up his head and broke into a wild run. Not far ahead 
was a turn in the road, and there a gate into a field 
stood open. This field was a wide hillside of coarse 
grass and sassafras-bushes, intersected here and there 
by deep gullies. Directly toward the nearest of these 
the steer made his way, plunged down into it, and 
bounded up on the other side. When Ardis reached 
it he was rapidly making his way diagonally across the 
hillside toward a stretch of forest land half a mile away. 

76 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


The horse was now thoroughly excited. Had not 
Ardis held him strongly back he would have dashed 
into the gully— it was too wide for him to leap. But 
Ardis knew that where young cattle may safely 
scramble, horses may come to grief, and turning her 
steed she made for the head of the gully. She now 
saw that a rough cart-track led from the gate through 
which she had passed by a wide, circuitous bend 
around the heads of several gullies up to an opening 
in the woods, where there was probably a roadway 
through the forest. To this opening the steer was 
evidently directing his course, and if he got into the 
narrow road Ardis might despair of being able to head 
him off. But although the distance by the cart-track 
was greater than that which the steer would travel, 
Ardis knew that it would be better for her to follow 
it than to endeavor to cross the gullies. 

She put the horse to the top of his speed and dashed 
up the road. There was no need of urging that ani- 
mal. Once on fire with the consciousness that he could 
go as fast as he pleased, he thundered over the ground. 
Never before had Ardis had such a horse beneath 
her. She could feel the swift play of his powerful 
muscles ; his hot breath flew past her ; her own blood 
was hot in her veins ; it seemed as if she herself were 
making those tremendous bounds — as if she were a 
wild, free, powerful being, rushing through the spar- 
kling air. 

Her own riding-mare was a fine animal, speedy and 
true ; but this fellow was a king of horses, and his blood 
was up. 

The steer was within fifty yards of the woods when 
Ardis rounded the last gully. The runaway animal 
77 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


saw his opportunity, and was galloping madly. Ardis 
leaned forward and shouted to her horse, who, throw- 
ing all his fire, all his mighty strength, into one wild 
burst of speed, rushed at the opening, almost brushed 
the steer, and dashed past him. Three lengths within 
the roadway, shut in on each side by heavy timber 
and underbrush, Ardis brought him up and whirled 
him round, his hoofs striking fire from the loose stones 
and his haunches crushing into the brushwood. A low 
bough took off her hat, but she did not know it, nor 
that the heel of her boot had scratched the bark from 
a tree. The steer was before her, about to rush past 
her. Urging her horse, trembling and tramping with 
excitement, directly upon the wild-eyed creature, she 
leaned forward, brandishing her whip in the face of 
the steer until the animal snorted, backed, and then 
turned and rushed out of the woods. 

Ardis was instantly after him. She had him now 
in her power. Her horse could move more swiftly 
than he could, and whenever the steer made a dash 
toward the woods, Ardis interposed herself and her 
whip. Presently the steer stopped, Ardis charged 
upon him, and he set off down the cart-track on a trot. 
Once or twice he veered toward the gullies, but Ardis 
kept close to him and turned him to the way he should 
go, and at last, fixing his eyes on the open gateway, 
he galloped toward it and out of it. 

Of course the steer turned the wrong way and went 
up the road, but Ardis rode out of the gate, and, 
without dismounting, closed and latched it. Then 
she galloped after the steer, and as he had but little 
start of her, she soon passed him and turned him. How 
patting the neck and quieting down the fierce excite- 
78 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


ment of the grand animal she rode, she drove the 
steer back to Heatherley. 

Ardis found the boy sitting on the gate-post. He 
received her with an air of subdued admiration. 
Springing to the ground, she said : “You can change 
the saddles here and leave this one at the gate. I 
will send for it. Do you think you can drive the steer 
home now ? He must be tired of running.” 

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” said the boy, “I can make him go 
ahead now. But where’s your hat, ma’am ? ” 

Ardis put her hand to her head. “I have lost it,” 
she said, “and I really did not miss it. And now, you 
tell Tom Harris not to put you on such a horse as that 
again. By the way, where is Tom Harris working 
now?” 

“He is working for Mr. Dunworth,” said the boy. 

“Is that Mr. Dunworth’s horse?” exclaimed Ardis. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“And that his steer?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Ardis looked at the boy. A little frown succeeded 
by a little smile appeared upon her face, and without 
further remark she walked to the house. 

“Ardis,” said Norma to her friend with the bright 
eyes and glowing cheeks, “it doesn’t matter in the 
least about the hat ; I don’t know whom it belonged to, 
and it will never be missed, for there are always hats 
enough and to spare ; and as for the skirt, it was an old 
one anyway, and those places can easily be mended. 
But there was not the least necessity for your going 
after that runaway creature.” 

“Necessity! Of course not!” said Ardis. “I 
wanted a bit of wild exhilaration to take away the 
79 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


smell of cooked peaches ; and I assure you, Norma, it 
took it away.” 

“I wonder what Mr. Surrey would have said,” re- 
marked Norma, “if he could have seen you riding 
after cattle in that style ! ” 

“Mr. Surrey!” exclaimed Ardis. “I give myself 
no concern about what he thinks or says.” 

If there was a slight emphasis on the word “he,” 
Norma did not perceive it. 


80 


CHAPTER VII 


On the afternoon of the next day Norma Cranton was 
sitting in the library at Bald Hill. She was busily 
engaged upon a piece of most deliberate handiwork 
by which a rural scene was evolved in minute stitches 
upon a piece of linen. At a table near by sat Major 
Claverden, reading a book of old plays. Suddenly he 
exclaimed : 

“Upon my word ! would you believe that the poet 
Gray was a plagiarist ? ” 

“No,” cried Norma, looking up suddenly with a 
flush upon her face, “I would not believe anything of 
the kind.” 

“Well, then, listen to this,” said he. “Here in the 
epilogue to the play of 1 Every One Has His Fault,’ 
by Mrs. Inchbald, is this line : 

u ‘Oft climb the knee the envied kiss to share.’ ” 

“Gray does not use exactly those words in his 
‘Elegy,’ ” said Norma. “He says : 

“ ‘ Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.’ ” 

“But my conscience !” said the major, “that’s near 
enough to be the most outrageous plagiarism ! ” 

“When was that play written?” asked Norma, her 
face sparkling with indignant loyalty. 

81 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Major Claverden turned back to the title-page. “It 
was published in 1795,” he said. 

“And the poet Gray died in 1771,” said Norma. 
“Does that look much like plagiarism on Ms part?” 
And she put a series of indignant stitches into a 
duck’s tail. 

Major Claverden looked severely at the book. “It 
is plain to me/’ he said, “that M. P. Andrews, Esq., 
who wrote this epilogue, was not a gentleman. If he 
had marked the line as a quotation, its use would 
have been perfectly proper, but now we have no reason 
to believe that he did not steal his other lines. But I 
suppose,” he continued, as he closed the book, “that 
gentlemen were as scarce in those days as they are 
now.” 

“I do not believe they were scarce in those days,” 
said Norma, flushing up again. “That was a gentle- 
manly age.” 

“Well,” said the major, with a smile, “we will not 
discuss the manners or morals of that period.” 

Notwithstanding this remark, Norma was about to 
begin a defence of the morals and manners of that 
period, when a carriage from the town drove up in 
front of the door. 

Major Claverden arose and looked through the open 
window. “This must be Mr. Surrey ! ” he said ; and 
he hastened out of the room. 

A gentleman attired in a dark-plaid travelling-suit, 
with a light overcoat over his arm, had sprung out of 
the carriage before the major appeared on the porch, 
and was ordering the driver to put down a large 
leathern valise, on the top of which was strapped a 
silver -headed cane and an umbrella. The major hur- 
82 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


ried down the steps, but before he reached the bottom 
the gentleman stepped briskly toward him with ex- 
tended hand. 

“Delighted to see you, Major Claverden,” he said. 
“My name is Surrey. 77 

As the two men were exchanging the civilities com- 
mon upon such occasions, Norma Cranton stood in the 
hallway and observed the new-comer. She saw a man 
of medium height, strongly built, with good features, 
a lively expression, and a heavy, reddish-brown mous- 
tache. His apparel was handsome, and, if not of that 
fashion called “loud,” might, preserving the same line 
of simile, be termed distinct. A person conversant 
with social demeanors might have judged that Mr. 
Surrey not only appeared to be a man of the world, but 
desired to appear as such. 

Norma was not a judge of social demeanors. She 
knew very little of society except what existed in 
her State and county at the present day, or had existed 
on the other side of the ocean in the last century. She 
saw nothing in Mr. Surrey to which she knew how to 
object, and yet she did not approve of him. “I be- 
lieve,” she said to herself, “that he would plagiarize 
just as soon as not ! ” And then she went forward to 
meet the gentleman, who was just entering the door. 

Major Claverden presented Mr. Surrey to Miss Cran- 
ton, and then inquired for his daughter. 

“I will go and find her,” said Norma, and she de- 
parted with alacrity. 

Ardis was in her own room, sitting by an open 
window, reading. 

“Don’t you know Mr. Surrey is here?” exclaimed 
Norma, as she entered. 


83 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Ardis laid the book in her lap without closing it. 
“I heard carriage- wheels / 7 she said, “and supposed he 
had come . 77 

“Then why don 7 t you go down ? 77 said Norma. 

“There is no hurry / 7 said Ardis ; but she closed the 
book and went down. 

Ardis welcomed Mr. Surrey with that charming 
cordiality which she always showed to her father’s 
guests. The visitor was surprised as well as delighted 
when he saw her. 

“By George ! 77 he said to himself, “she dresses as 
correctly here in the backwoods as if she were at 
Newport ! 77 

That night, when the family at Bald Hill had gone 
to their rooms, Norma came and sat down by Ardis. 
Her expression was very serious. 

“There is something / 7 she said, “of which I feel 
positively certain, and which I think you ought to 
know, and yet I don’t know whether to speak of it to 
you or not . 77 

“If I ought to know it, you should tell it,” said 
Ardis. 

Norma sat silent for a moment. “Very well, then,” 
she said, “I will speak plainly. I have been observing 
Mr. Surrey very attentively this evening, especially 
his manner of speaking to you and looking at you ; 
and I am firmly convinced that he has no business of 
any importance whatever at Bolton, and that he came 
into this county on purpose to see you, and, more than 
that, that he wants to marry you. Now, Ardis, I have 
spoken in this candid way to you because I think you 
ought not to remain in ignorance of these things for a 
single hour.” 


84 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“My dear Norma,” said Ardis, with a smile, “I am 
ever so much obliged to yon for telling me this out of 
your good, kind heart ; but truly, my dear, I saw it all 
for myself.” 

“And what are you going to do about it?” asked 
Norma. 

“I shall do nothing,” replied Ardis. “It is not my 
affair.” 

“But he will make it your affair,” persisted Norma. 

“My dear child,” said Ardis, taking her friend’s 
rosy face between her white hands, “I really cannot 
consent to concern myself with other people’s ideas 
and fancies. And now let us go to bed.” 

About ten o’clock the next morning Mr. Jack Sur- 
rey was walking up and down in the shade of some oak- 
trees on the lawn at Bald Hill. He was smoking a 
cigarette, and was in radiant good humor. This was 
due partly to his pleasant surroundings and partly to 
the fact that he had made up his mind. Mr. Surrey’s 
intentions generally resembled the erratic flights of 
fireflies upon a dark night. To concentrate these 
intentions into a glow sufficient to show him what he 
was going to do was very cheering to his soul. 

In the course of that summer he had made up his 
mind to marry, and of the available ladies of his ac- 
quaintance he thought of none more favorably than of 
Miss Ardis Claverden. He had made her acquaintance 
during the past winter in Washington, and had seen 
her frequently, and the oftener he saw her the more 
he admired her. But he did not feel altogether sure 
about her. She might be a very fine lady in the city 
and yet live in a ramshackle sort of way in the coun- 
try, at home, which would not at all suit him. There 
85 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


was a good deal of that sort of thing in Virginia. He 
had come down to see for himself how the land lay, 
and his good fortune had been fairly stunning. He 
had supposed he would be invited to take some meals 
at the Claverden place and perhaps to spend a night 
there, but to be asked to make Bald Hill his home 
during his stay in the neighborhood was far beyond 
his expectations. And Ardis at home was far beyond 
his expectations. 

“By George ! 77 he said to himself, as he blew a line 
of smoke far out into the morning air, “she is more 
charming here than she is anywhere else ! She is a 
regular young queen ! 77 

And Bald Hill as a whole was satisfactory to Mr. 
Surrey. He was impressed by the air of comfort and 
prosperity about the place. To be sure, it had none of 
that appearance of fresh paint, sandpapered grass, and 
general bandboxism which one sees in the swell coun- 
try places near a city, but there was nothing run down 
here, no evidences of the wreck and ruin which are 
supposed to be the common results of the late war. It 
was apparently a well-kept and well-managed estate ; 
and although the probable income from it, were the 
owner residing in New York, would have allowed him 
to do no more than live in a modest way and ride 
about in street-cars, yet here, Mr. Surrey thought, that 
income enabled him to live like a prince in compari- 
son. Here were plenty of horses raised on the place 
and costing little to keep, plenty of servants at wages 
that seemed to Mr. Surrey like mere bagatelles, car- 
riages, good living, plenty of room for company, and, 
better than all, only one child to inherit the whole 
thing. 


86 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


He had just returned from a walk to the vineyard 
with Major Claverden, who had expatiated fully on 
the subject of the wine of Bald Hill. To the words of 
his host Mr. Surrey had listened with great interest. 
This was something gorgeous ! He had sipped Johan- 
nisberger j and what a high old thing it would be to 
grow that glorious wine on your own place ! The old 
gentleman spoke like a man who is master of his sub- 
ject, and the subject was one of the deepest import to 
Mr. Surrey. He could see no reason why the finest 
juice in the world should not be produced on this spot. 
The hardest part of the work and the longest part of 
the waiting had already been done. It suited Mr. 
Surrey to join a race near the finish. The idea of one 
day drinking his own Johannisberger, or wine as good 
as that, was delightfully stimulating. He had asked a 
great many questions, and questions which Major 
Claverden thought very practical and sensible. He 
had even gone into the subject of bottling and the 
branding of corks. 

When they had returned to the house the major had 
informed his daughter that Mr. Surrey was the most 
intelligent and satisfactory visitor he had ever taken 
to his vineyard. “He appreciates the value of what I 
have done and what I am going to do in a manner 
very unusual in a man who has never devbted himself 
to the pursuit of vine-growing. But his mind is ca- 
pable of grasping promptly every detail, and what he 
does not know he is eager to ask . 77 

This statement had greatly surprised Ardis. She 
had supposed that Mr. Surrey would be bored to death 
by a vineyard discourse, and that if he got through 
the ordeal with politeness it would be all that could 
87 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


be expected of him. His active interest appeared 
unnatural to her, and she must think about it. She 
made no reply to her father, but went to see what 
Norma was doing instead of going to see what Mr. Sur- 
rey was doing, as had been her intention. 

The cigarette having been smoked, Mr. Surrey threw 
away the end, and expanded his broad chest. He 
stopped in his walk and gazed toward the house with 
an expression of cheery impatience. 

“Now, then, young lady/ 7 he said almost aloud, 
“come out and be courted. If you don’t come I shall 
go and look for you. But I prefer that you should 
make your appearance outside.” 

At that moment Mr. Surrey heard the sound of a 
horse’s hoofs on the driveway, not far behind him. 
Turning quickly, he beheld approaching Dr. Lester on 
his cream-colored horse. A smile came over the face 
of Jack Surrey. 

“What gay old cock is this? ” he wondered. 

Dr. Lester was loyal and true. He had promised 
Miss Ardis that he would call on the visitor at her 
house, and at the earliest suitable moment he had 
come. He would have much preferred to stay at 
home, but he thought of no such thing as staying at 
home. The moment he saw the smiling gentleman 
under the trees he disliked him ; but nothing of that 
feeling was shown in his demeanor. He got down 
from his horse, and, bridle in hand, walked over the 
grass. 

“This is Mr. Surrey, I presume,” he said. “You 
must excuse, sir, the informality of my introducing 
myself in this way, but I am a friend of the family, of 
long standing. My name is Lester— Dr. Lester.” 

88 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Mr. Surrey begged that informality be not men- 
tioned, shook hands with the doctor, and said he was 
glad to see him. 

“Now,” thought Jack, “if he has come to see the old 
gentleman I hope he will step along and attend to that 
matter forthwith.” 

But Dr. Lester did not step along. He had come to 
pay his respects to Mr. Surrey, and he stood with him, 
and asked him if he had ever visited this section of the 
country before, how it compared at this season with 
the more northern States, with similar remarks com- 
mon on such occasions. Finally the two walked to- 
gether toward the house, and the cream-colored horse 
was tied to the limb of a tree. 

When Ardis heard Dr. Lester’s voice on the porch 
she came out and joined the gentlemen. She was very 
glad to see the doctor. In a certain vague way he 
seemed a refuge to her. She was gracious and atten- 
tive to him in a manner that appeared somewhat 
pronounced, and which struck Mr. Surrey as being a 
little odd. 

Presently the major came in from the farm, and 
Miss Norma made her appearance on the scene, and 
these two were also very gracious and attentive to the 
doctor. Mr. Surrey sat and observed. He could not 
exactly make out Dr. Lester, who was plainly a family 
friend, and who might also be supposed to be the 
family physician were it not that Mr. Surrey had never 
heard of a doctor whose regard for his business repu- 
tation would allow him to spend a morning in making 
a friendly call. 

“If he has nothing to do,” thought Jack, “it speaks 
well for the health of the country, and I like that.” 

89 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Mr. Surrey joined in the general conversation when- 
ever he found himself able to* do so, and very soon 
came to the opinion that Dr. Lester was a man who 
not only knew a good deal about a lot of things, but 
who had nothing very pressing to do, for he had al- 
lowed his horse to be taken to the stable and had con- 
sented to stay to dinner. Mr. Surrey, who could ill 
endure protracted sedentary conversation, went out 
after a time to the side porch to stretch his legs and to 
look at the sky. There was nothing the matter with 
the sky, and the legs stretched easily 0 Then he 
walked up and down with his thumbs in the sleeve- 
holes of his waistcoat and considered what he should 
do about Dr. Lester. It seemed impossible for him to 
carry on the business which he had marked out for 
himself in the morning while that man was here. He 
therefore turned the matter over in his mind to see 
how he could make the best of present circumstances, 
this being one of his habitual mental exercises. He 
concluded that the very best thing to do about Dr. 
Lester was to stop playing second fiddle in conversa- 
tions in which he took no particular interest, and to 
get some good for himself out of this doctor, who 
seemed to be well posted on a variety of subjects. 

In pursuance of his determination, Mr. Surrey pro- 
posed to the doctor, soon after dinner, to take a walk 
with him, the major having been called away by his 
head man. In the course of a long walk, Mr. Surrey 
received a great deal of information which he mentally 
disposed of with aptness and good judgment, dropping 
that which appeared unavailable, and carefully stor- 
ing away all which might be of future use. He asked 
questions about the manners and customs of the coun- 
90 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


try, about the game, the peculiarities of the soil, the 
rates of farm wages, the methods of fertilizing, the sys- 
tem under which the roads were kept in repair, the 
grazing capacity of the country, and as many points 
connected with local politics as he was able to put into 
shape. 

Dr. Lester replied with willing readiness to all the 
queries of his companion, but for the first time in his 
life, as far as he could remember, he took no pleasure 
in talking on the subjects which ordinarily interested 
him so much. The truth was that he took no interest 
in Mr. Surrey. He had promised Miss Ardis that he 
would do his best to help entertain this visitor to her 
father’s house, and he had honestly endeavored to keep 
his promise. But the only information which he 
would cheerfully and gladly have given this gentle- 
man would have been the hour of departure of the 
next train from Bolton for the North. 

On the other hand, Mr. Surrey approved of the 
doctor. He was a queer specimen, so grave, so long, 
and so full of facts $ but he had proved himself very 
serviceable. Mr. Surrey now felt confident that he 
could make a fair show in the general conversations 
which might take place at Bald Hill. He knew 
enough, at any rate, to ask intelligent questions, and 
that was very important. He had made the best of 
Dr. Lester, and was, therefore, satisfied with him. But 
he had no further need of him, and was glad, as they 
approached the house, to see a saddled horse standing 
by the hitching-post— probably in pursuance of orders 
left by the doctor. 

But, as they came nearer, Surrey noticed that the 
horse was not a cream-colored one, but a very fine 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


bay animal. Then he perceived upon the porch the 
two ladies, the major, and a gentleman. When he 
reached the house, this individual, a tall, good-looking 
young man, was introduced to him as Mr. Dunworth. 
Jack Surrey did not care about Mr. Dunworth, one 
way or another, but he was very unpleasantly im- 
pressed by the fact that there were a great many more 
visitors at this Virginia country house than he had 
imagined there would be. In fact, in coming down 
here he had supposed that he would have the Miss 
Claverden field all to himself. 

The doctor and Mr. Dunworth stayed to supper and 
for some hours afterwards, but the evening was not a 
very satisfactory one. The major, Norma, and Mr. 
Surrey talked a good deal, and the others listened a 
good deal. This listening, which was done by persons 
who were accustomed to take their full share of the 
talking, threw a certain air of constraint over the 
party. 

About the family bedtime the doctor and Mr. Dun- 
worth departed, and as he was taking leave of Ardis 
the latter found opportunity to say : “How long is that 
man to stay here ! ” 

“I don’t know,” she said, “and I don’t think you 
ought to speak of our visitor in that way. I supposed 
you came here to help make his visit pleasant.” 

He smiled a little grimly. “To tell the truth,” he 
said, “I came to see who and what he is. I do not like 
him.” 

“Roger Dunworth ! ” said Ardis, severely. 

“Ardis,” he replied, “you know very well what I 
mean. It is because of you that I care enough about 
him not to like him.” 


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“You do very wrong/’ she said, flushing, “to place 
me, even in your own mind, in such positions in regard 
to other people.” 

And she did not give him her hand when he left. 

Jack Surrey went to his room disappointed, but not 
at all disheartened. “The result of this interruption 
is,” he said to himself, “that I shall not count this day 
as part of my visit. I shall begin fresh to-morrow.” 


93 


CHAPTER VIII 


On the morrow Mr. Surrey thought it well to give 
some attention to the ostensible business which had 
brought him to Bolton. It was not according to Major 
Claverden’s ideas of politeness to ask his visitor any 
questions concerning this business, and Surrey was 
not entirely prepared to give such information, had it 
been asked. Of course, had he been thrown among 
inquisitive people, he would have had an answer for 
them, but he was very glad that, so far, he had not 
been required to make any remarks on the subject. 
But appearances demanded of him that he should show 
a proper interest in this business, whatever it might 
be ; and so, after breakfast, he borrowed a horse of 
the major, and rode into town. 

In a general way Mr. Surrey had thought that if he 
should find it necessary to make known his business 
intentions, he would probably want to look over some 
papers in the office of the clerk of the county court. 
He knew Bolton was a county town, and supposed it 
had a county court with the appertaining clerk, but 
that said clerk had an office, or that there were any 
papers in the office, Mr. Surrey was not at all certain. 

On the road to town he was in excellent spirits. He 
liked this country and this sort of life ; he liked to 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


ride to town on a good horse ; he liked to think he 
was coming back to spend the rest of the day, and he 
did not know how many more days, with such a won- 
derfully fine girl as Ardis Claverden. She would even 
suit him a great deal better than he had thought she 
would. She was a little quieter here than when he 
had met her in the city, but he liked that 5 it gave her 
a new charm. In fact, he thought he should like that 
girl in any mood. To be sure, he should prefer 
some moods to others, but she would appear well in 
any. 

He did not ride fast, and his quick eyes glanced on 
every side. He wished to understand and appreciate 
what he saw, and he made conjectures as to the kind 
of grain which had been grown in this stubble-field or 
in that. When he reached the bottom of a long hill 
he saw a man sitting on a fence by the roadside. The 
man’s face was a good-humored one, and wore an ex- 
pression half of inquisitiveness and half of recognition. 
Jack liked to talk to people whom he met in this way, 
and he drew up his horse. 

“Fine country you have about here,” he said. 

“Well,” said the man, “in some ways you may call 
it fine, but in other ways it’s different. But I suppose 
to people coming from the city any kind of country 
looks mighty nice.” 

Mr. Surrey did not like this. Wherever he went 
he wished to be considered perfectly at home. He 
slightly shrugged his shoulders, but did not deign to 
explain to this casual stranger that he was quite famil- 
iar with all the different kinds of country that there 
were. He asserted himself, however, so far as to say 
that he had noticed the people hereabout had made 
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a great mistake in cutting down so many of their 
trees, especially on the highroads. 

“Well,” said the man on the fence, “some people 
have one kind of opinion about trees along the road, 
and some have another. Some like ’em and some 
don’t. But, talkin’ of trees, do you see that one down 
there at the turn of the roads? Isn’t that big and 
handsome?” 

“Yes,” said Mr. Surrey, “that is a very fine tree.” 

“Well, now, I’ll tell you about that tree,” said the 
man, settling himself more comfortably on his top rail. 
“Three years ago that tree was a weak, scraggly, mean- 
looking thing. At that time there was a feller in 
these parts named Pete Creegle, who was a mighty big 
rascal— one of the worst kind. He made the people 
round here afraid to go to sleep at night. Sometimes 
he broke into houses and stole everything he could 
lay his hands on, and sometimes he’d murder a couple 
of old people to steal seven or eight dollars they 
had put away somewhere, and sometimes he’d pour 
kerosene over a barn and set fire to it and burn up 
horses, mules, and everything in it. He was caught 
two or three times, but he always got off some way or 
other. But he was grabbed up right in the middle of 
his last piece of rascality, and for fear he’d get off 
again, a party of good citizens took him and hanged 
him on that tree. Well, sir, from that minute that 
tree began to feel good. It looked as if it said to 
itself : ow I’ve been of some real, downright service 

to this county. I’ve helped the people to get rid of 
Pete Creegle ! I’ll be durned if I don’t believe I’m a 
good deal more of a tree than I thought I was.’ And 
then that tree began to hump itself and put on airs. 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


It just grew up and spread out till it got to be the 
big, handsome tree you see there ! Now what do you 
think of that, sir, for a tree with a good opinion of 
itself?” 

Jack Surrey was not at all averse to making a little 
good-natured game of a stranger, and when he had an 
opportunity he did not refrain from the sport. But 
he objected to any one making game of him. That 
sort of thing he would quickly resent. His eyes 
sparkled a little as he looked steadfastly at the man 
on the fence. “That was a good piece of work,” said 
he, “and if people about here would plant trees all 
along the roads, and then hang on them the good-for- 
nothing, long-legged, lazy rascals who sit about in the 
sun instead of trying to do something to earn their own 
victuals and soap, they would have the best-shaded 
roads to be found in this country ! ” 

And with this Mr. Surrey rode slowly away. 

As a general thing, Bonetti was a good-humored, 
pleasant-tempered man, but now all there was in him 
of Neapolitan blood came darkly into his face. Get- 
ting down from the fence, he went home. 

Jack Surrey rode into town serene, happy, and 
ready to be interested. He entered the main street, 
and soon stopped in front of the principal hotel in the 
place. He gave his horse to a negro boy, taking it for 
granted that the boy would do for the animal whatever 
people did to horses on similar occasions. Whether 
he watered him, fed him, groomed him, or had him 
shod, the matter concerned not the mind of Mr. Surrey. 
He went into the hotel, bought a cigar, lighted it, came 
out upon the porch, took a seat in an arm-chair, put his 
feet up on the railing, and surveyed the passing scene. 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


The passing scene was very pleasing to Mr. Surrey. 
Although he sometimes spent a winter in Washing- 
ton, he was not accustomed to Southern rural life, and 
all he saw was novel and interesting. The peculiar 
business life of the street, exhibiting a certain bustling 
activity blended with a happy sense of leisure which 
gave every man time enough to talk to a friend without 
neglecting his affairs, seemed to Surrey the beau-ideal 
of what business life ought to be. It suited him. 

“I should like to ride into town,” he thought, “and 
sell corn and tobacco and wine to these good fellows. 
By George ! I believe every man knows everybody 
else ! ” 

A melancholy, half-grown ox between the shafts of a 
doleful cart, driven by a shrivelled-up old negro man 
wearing a battered black silk hat, excited his delight. 

“One couldn’t see anything better than that at the 
theatre,” he thought. 

The negroes, men, women, and children, entertained 
him much. Whether sailing along in finery, or slouch- 
ing about in rags and old boots, they interested and 
amused him. A little negro boy, carrying a large 
basket, stopped and asked him if he wanted his boots 
blackened. 

“Where are you going with that basket?” asked 
Mr. Surrey. 

“I’s gwine to de sto’ fer groc’ri’s,” said he. 

“And how are you going to blacken my boots? ” 

“Oh, I kin black ’em!” cried the boy, his eyes 
sparkling with mercenary expectation. “Dar’s a boy 
down de hill wot’ll len’ me his blackin’ -box. Jes you 
keep you’ eye on dat basket, boss, an’ I’ll run fotch de 
box.” 


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“Look here, yon young rascal,” said Mr. Surrey, 
severely, “do you mean to say that when you are sent 
on errands you stop to go and borrow kits to black 
people’s boots ? ” 

“Yes, sah,” said the boy, his eyes wide open with 
astonishment that any one should doubt his willingness 
to do such a praiseworthy deed as this. 

“Well, get along and attend to your business,” said 
Mr. Surrey, “or I will teach you how to go on errands ! 
Take that ! ” And he tossed him a coin which would 
have paid for the polishing of his boots. 

Scarcely had the boy departed, grinning, when a 
high-pitched dog-cart, drawn by a headlong little 
horse, dashed up to the door, and a young man with 
rosy face, and dressed in a corduroy suit, sprang out. 
This individual hurried into the hotel, transacted his 
business there in a very few minutes, hurried out 
again, sprang into his dog-cart, and whirled himself 
away. 

“English ! ” thought Mr. Surrey. “Know them 
wherever I see them ! Slam-bang, dog-cart, and 
whiskey.” 

Mr. Surrey was not averse to any of these things 
taken in moderation, but it amused him to see other 
people given to them. He now threw away the end 
of his cigar and walked up the street. Here he saw 
shops with a lot of things in them a man might want : 
in a window a display of cravats which prompted him 
to go in and buy one ; a little farther on a boy in a 
stationer’s store sawing in half a block of ice which he 
had just pulled up out of the cellar, and for which a 
customer with a basket was waiting. 

“This is too jolly ! ” said Jack Surrey. “Pens, ink, 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


and ice ! I wonder if they keep png pups in there ! 
This sort of thing ought to be written up for the maga- 
zines. It would make a first-class illustrated article. 
I have a mind to do it myself. By George ! I will 
do it ! Happy thought ! That is my business in this 
town. Confound the clerk of the county court ! M 
have nothing to do with him. I will lay in a stock of 
tools and go straight to work.” 

And turning back, he went into the stationery shop 
and bought a pocket memorandum-book, pencils, a 
package of manuscript paper, a bottle of ink, some 
pens, and a portable inkstand. He then spent about 
half an hour talking with the proprietor of the estab- 
lishment, from whom he extracted a variety of curious 
and interesting facts in regard to the town and the 
people. 

Having now settled upon his business in Bolton, 
Jack was joyously satisfied. He returned to the hotel, 
called for his horse, remunerated the boy with a sum 
which was royal pay for having simply tied the animal 
to a post, and then rode back to Bald Hill. 

“I cannot draw the pictures,” he said to himself, as 
his horse, animated by visions of his noontide meal, 
cantered briskly homeward. “But that does not 
matter. I can have them made in New York. I can 
tell the artist exactly what to draw, and we shall get 
on well enough.” 

Major Claverden met him at the door. “I hope 
you have had satisfactory success in your affairs, sir,” 
said his host, with polite but uninquisitive interest. 

“Oh, splendid!” said Mr. Surrey. “I have got a 
lot of capital points for the illustrated article I am 
going to write about Bolton. I had no idea your town, 
sir, was so full of good bits both for pen and pencil.” 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“I hope, sir,” said the major, “if your business here 
is to write an account of our town and neighborhood 
for Northern readers, that you will give yourself ample 
opportunity to know us exactly as we are. That is all 
we desire, sir. But a great deal has been written by 
persons who made their observations in the most super- 
ficial manner which outrageously misrepresented us, 
sir.” 

“Oh, you needn’t be afraid of anything of that kind 
in my case,” said Jack. “I shall look long indeed 
into everything I write about, and I haven’t any, preju- 
dices one way or another. And what is more, major, 
I shall not mind in the least letting you look over my 
manuscript before I print it, so that you may let me 
know if I have got anything crooked.” 

“That is very fair,” said the major, “and I shall be 
glad to do so. Are you an artist, sir, as well as a 
writer f ” 

“No,” said Jack, “and there is the rub ! I do not 
draw, and I don’t suppose I could find anybody about 
here who could make sketches for me. But that will 
make but little difference, for the pictures can be done 
from descriptions. That is common enough.” 

“My daughter, sir,” said Major Claverden, “is an 
admirable artist, and I have no doubt that she will be 
able to furnish you with sketches which may be useful 
to you.” 

Mr. Surrey’s eyes sparkled. “Good ! ” he exclaimed. 
“Nothing could be better than that. And I shall be 
delighted to avail myself of any assistance she may be 
willing to give me.” 

“Now, then,” thought Jack, as, when left to himself, 
he walked up and down the porch, “could anything be 
more glorious ? She draws ! I write ! Pop ! ” 

101 


CHAPTER IX 


On the afternoon of that day Mr. Surrey walked up 
and down on the grass under the oak-trees, smoking 
his cigar. He had had his dinner $ he was satisfied 
with all the world ; and he was waiting for the ap- 
pearance of Miss Claverden in order that he might 
discuss with her the subjects of the sketches for his 
article. He had not mentioned this matter at dinner, 
somewhat to his host’s surprise, for the major thought 
when a man had anything as important as that to 
speak of, he would speak of it on the first opportunity. 
But as his guest made no allusion to the matter, he, of 
course, made none. 

Jack Surrey valued too highly the opportunities 
which his proposed discussion might give him to waste 
any of them in desultory dinner talk. He wished to 
speak to Ardis alone, and as his cigar drew near its 
end he began to grow impatient for her appearance. 
He changed the direction of his walk so he could 
keep his eyes upon the piazza, porches, and open lower 
windows of the house. Norma Cranton came out on 
the side porch and, taking a shaded seat, began to 
work upon her rural scene on linen. Jack spoke 
cheerily to her, and presently joined her. 

“Can you tell me,” he said, “when Miss Claverden 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


will be likely to make her appearance among us mor- 
tals ? I, for one, am particularly anxious to see her. 
I wish to talk to her on business.” 

“ Business !” exclaimed Norma, her eyes expressing 
astonishment. 

“Yes, Miss Cranton,” said Jack, lazily throwing 
himself into a corner of a bench, “business. I don’t 
suppose you look upon me as a business man, but I 
assure you that is what I am. And I do not mind,” 
he continued, leaning a little forward as he spoke, 
“telling you what my business is. I believe it is a sort 
of thing which you will take an interest in, and in 
which you can help a man very much indeed.” 

Norma let her square of linen drop into her lap, 
and looked at him. 

“I am going to collect as many good points as I can 
about life in your town and in this part of the country, 
and when I have taken all the notes I want, and have 
got a lot of sketches—” 

“You are going to write a book for Northern read- 
ers,” interrupted Norma, “making fun of the people 
of the South, especially of this region.” 

“Not at all, Miss Cranton ! Not at all ! ” exclaimed 
Surrey. “I am not that sort of man, I assure you. Of 
course I shall bring forth all the odd and quaint char- 
acteristics, especially of the negroes and ordinary 
whites ; but as to making fun of your people, I would 
not dream of such a thing, Miss Cranton.” 

Norma listened to Mr. Surrey’s disclaimer, but his 
words made no impression upon her. “The books you 
Northern people write are all alike,” she said. “You 
take what you call the quaint and peculiar charac- 
teristics of the negroes and low-down whites, and you 
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put them forward in such a way that the readers of 
the books think that we are all like that. Now, I 
consider these traits of the working-people as utterly 
beneath notice. And if you all were to write books 
which would give a true idea of life down here you 
would write of the ladies and gentlemen you associate 
with, and put everything else into the background, 
where it belongs.” 

“ Really, Miss Cranton— ” said Surrey. But he 
stopped speaking at the sound of approaching wheels, 
and the next instant a dog- cart pulled up at the front 
of the house, and a fresh-faced young man in a cordu- 
roy suit sprang to the ground. 

“Upon my word,” said Mr. Surrey, “if there isn’t 
the young Englishman I saw in town to-day.” 

“Yes,” said Norma, “it is Mr. Prouter, and I don’t 
believe there is anybody to receive him.” And she 
went through the house to the front. 

Mr. Surrey remained a few moments in the corner 
of the bench. “It must be business with the major 
that brings that fellow here,” he muttered. Then, 
hearing voices, he got up and went inside. Through 
the open windows of the parlor he could look upon 
the front porch, and there he saw Prouter shaking 
hands with Ardis. “Confound it ! ” he said to himself. 
“She always makes her appearance as soon as any 
country Tom, Dick, or Harry arrives ! ” 

Norma was already on the porch, where Major Clav- 
erden soon made his appearance. Surrey, not wishing 
to be left to himself, joined the group. He was made 
acquainted with Mr. Prouter, but the ceremony did 
not appear to afford him any gratification. Contrary 
to his usual manner, he was quiet and a little stiff. 

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Mr. Surrey had no dislike for Englishmen. He had 
lived a good deal in London, and, as a rule, looked 
upon a Briton as a jolly good fellow. But he disliked 
this Englishman because he had thrust himself upon 
the scene at the moment when he was hoping for a 
tete-a-tete with Miss Claverden, and also because he 
looked so disgustingly delighted when that lady was 
shaking him by the hand. 

It being very pleasant on the open porch, the party 
now took seats there, and Prouter instantly began to 
talk. 

“Do you know, Miss Claverden, 7 ’ he said, “that I am 
going into business? I have set up a milk route.” 

At this everybody exclaimed in astonishment. “It 
does sound queer, doesn’t it, really ? ” said Prouter, his 
face glowing with ruddy fervor. “But that is what I 
have done. I vowed to myself I would not be the 
only man in this county with nothing to do, and so 
I set up a milk route.” 

Ardis and Norma were much amused by Mr. Prout- 
er’s statement, but the major was filled with grave 
surprise. “It appears to me, sir,” he said, “that you 
could not have chosen a more unsuitable occupation.” 

“Beg pardon,” said Prouter, “but if you look at it 
you will see that that is not the case. Anything better 
suited to me couldn’t be imagined. I must gallop over 
the country looking for new cows when the old ones 
give out ; I must ride here, there, and everywhere, 
buying hay, fodder, ensilage, and everything else that 
cattle eat or want ; and I must keep on the go day and 
night, to see that the milkers and the feeders and the 
fellows that drive the wagons are kept up to their 
work and do no shilly-shallying; besides that, I’ve 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


got to increase the line of customers if I expect the 
thing to pay, and that will take a lot of going about 
town and seeing people ; to say nothing of riding into 
Bolton every morning from Quantrill’s — a good six 
miles— and back again at night. Now, that’s lively, 
isn’t it? And something out-and-out lively is what I 
want ! ” 

“Do you mean, sir,” said the major, “that you have 
already set up your route— that you have collected 
together everything necessary for such an enterprise ! ” 

“I have not done anything of that sort,” said 
Prouter. “I found that getting things together for my- 
self would be too slow work, so I bought out Keyser, 
the milkman in Bolton 5 I’ve bought him out, root and 
branch, cows, milk-pans, stables, wagons, pitchforks, 
and everything. He hadn’t much of a connection, for 
people didn’t like his milk. But I am going to set up 
the whole business on a new basis. I’ll get in a lot of 
tiptop cows, and shall have all the wagons painted 
new and bright, with green bodies and red wheels, 
and in big letters on the side, ‘ Royal Blossom Meadow 
Milk.’ That is the sort of stuff I am going to furnish ! 
American customers won’t object to the ‘ Boyal,’ and 
that part of the title will tickle the old-country people 
hereabout. I shouldn’t wonder if they’d all sell their 
Yankee cows and buy my milk. That’s a tiptop bit 
of a touch, now, isn’t it? I don’t suppose you want to 
take milk, do you, Miss Claverden ? ” 

Ardis laughed. “We have a large herd of cows,” 
she said, “and I hardly think we shall want any of the 
Boyal Blossom Milk, though I wish you all success.” 

“Thank you for that,” said he, “but I am going to 
send you some of the milk, anyway. You don’t know 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


what glorious milk-punch it makes ! I took some of 
it out to Quantrill’s last night in a little pail, and 
although most of it spilled over my legs, there was 
enough of it left to make some of the finest punch you 
ever tasted. Do you fancy milk-punch, sir ? ” said he, 
suddenly, turning toward Mr. Surrey. 

“No, sir,” said Surrey, promptly and falsely. 

“I’ve a great mind to send the punch ready-made,” 
said Prouter. 

“You must bring it yourself, sir,” said the major $ 
“but I would not advise you to set up a milk-punch 
route.” 

At this everybody laughed, except Mr. Surrey, and 
Prouter exclaimed : “I’ll tell you, Miss Claverden, 
when you want to sketch me again you must take 
me mounted, with a sombrero and a big cattle-whip.” 

“And a lot of milk-pails and churns in the back- 
ground,” added Ardis. 

The conversation continued in this strain for some 
time, while Mr. Surrey looked on with silent disap- 
proval. 

“So Ardis Claverden sketched this fellow, did she? ” 
And a more impertinent, red-faced puppy Mr. Surrey 
thought he had never looked upon. He would like to 
pop him, head foremost, into one of his own milk-cans. 
“Why should he come here, thrusting his vulgar busi- 
ness into the notice of gentlemen and ladies ? ” 

Upon one thing Mr. Surrey quickly made up his 
mind. To persons like Dr. Lester and Dunworth, who 
were evidently old friends of the family, he would be 
studiously courteous ; but there was no reason why he 
should treat this little jackanapes with any respect 
whatever. Of course he would remember that this 


107 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


person was a visitor in a family where he was also a 
guest, and he would do nothing out of the way ; but if 
he caught the little rascal interfering in his affair with 
Ardis Claverden, he would break his neck somewhere 
off the premises. 

The whole party now walked out to the studio 
to look at Ardis’s picture, now nearly finished ; it 
was unanimously declared to be a capital painting, 
which, barring some defects of inexperience, it really 
was. Mr. Prouter, notwithstanding the demands of 
his new career, stayed to supper, at which meal Dr. 
Lester was also present. The whole of the milk -route 
business was told again and retalked over, and similar 
things were done which excited Mr. Surrey’s impa- 
tience and disgust. But at ten o’clock the two visitors 
left, and Surrey found an opportunity to have a 
private talk with Ardis. He put before her the 
subject of the sketches in a way that interested her. 
She had had no idea he was a writer, and she was 
very willing to let him see all the sketches she had 
on hand, and to make more for him, if necessary. 
An interview in the studio was appointed for the 
next morning, and Jack went to bed greatly en- 
couraged. 

During the two following days there was a great 
deal of art discussion, and some art work, at Bald Hill. 
Ardis had sketch-books and portfolios filled with fin- 
ished, half-finished, and barely begun heads, figures, 
log cabins, and all sorts of characteristic “bits,” all of 
which Mr. Surrey declared to be exactly what he 
wanted. Some of the drawings he could take just as 
they were and write up to,— declaring that most of the 
illustrated articles of the day were constructed in that 
108 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


way,— others could be furnished to suit his notes ; and 
there was no end of the capital work they could do 
together. 

These discussions were not confined to Ardis and Mr. 
Surrey ; Norma was continually in and out of the 
studio, making suggestions which she hoped would 
elevate the general tone of the subjects taken. The 
major also showed a lively interest in the work, and 
assured Mr. Surrey that when he should reach that 
branch of his subject he would be ready to give him 
all needful points in regard to the great grape-growing 
interests of the locality, and would indicate some 
illustrations which would tend to give a peculiar value 
to his article. 

Ardis made some original sketches from Mr. Surrey’s 
suggestions and descriptions, and he declared that if 
she could get him some darkies, big and little, he could 
pose them so as to serve for all sorts of street subjects. 
Several negro boys and girls were sketched in attitudes 
considered characteristic $ but the favorite model was 
Uncle Shad, the old ox-driver. 

Uncle Shad had often sat to Ardis, sometimes as one 
thing and sometimes as another. She had made a 
very good middle-aged Roman soldier of him, and 
there were several sketches on the studio walls in which 
he figured as venerable personages of the past. One 
of his greatest merits as a model was his perfect will- 
ingness to sit still for any length of time ; and Ardis 
had often given the oxen a half-holiday in order that 
their driver might have a chance of going down to 
posterity instead of to the woodlands, where the winter’s 
fuel was waiting to be hauled. The old man always 
wanted to know what he was “gwine to be drawed 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


fer,” but only on one occasion did he express a decided 
opinion on the subject. 

“I does wish, Miss Ardis,” he said, “that I wasn’t 
most times drawed as a old heathen or a Cath’lic. 
Some ob dese days, Miss Ardis, when you feels mighty 
good, it would make my soul bounce wid joy ef you 
was to put me inter a picter like a pow’ful preacher 
standin’ up stiff an’ strong on top of a big rock, wid a 
mighty voice ’spoundin’ de word to a whole field full 
ob bred’ren an’ sisters, wid Beelzebub skippin’ ober de 
hills inter de nex’ county, whar dar wasn’t no sich 
pow’ful preacher as me.” 

This proposed subject pleased the fancy of Ardis, 
who, when she put action into her pictures, liked it to 
be strong, and did not at all object if it proved erratic $ 
and she resolved that some day she would paint a 
picture of this kind, and make a present of it to Uncle 
Shad $ but this plan had not yet been carried out. 

Mr. Surrey was very fond of posing Uncle Shad. 
He made him sit as a driver of “The Lonely Ox,” and 
in other “character” attitudes. All this was very 
delightful to Jack Surrey. In the morning he galloped 
into town to get “points” for his article, but he did 
not waste any precious moments, and was back by the 
time Ardis was ready to begin work in her studio. 
He would have been better pleased if Norma had not 
popped in and out so often, and if Ardis had not been 
so gravely intent upon her work. His attempts to 
lead the occasional tete-a-tete conversations into chan- 
nels in the least degree tinged with sentimentality 
were always unsuccessful. She was willing enough to 
talk, but she preferred practical subjects. 

She was not at all the animated, sprightly young 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


lady lie had met the winter before. There was, how- 
ever, an encouraging construction which might be 
placed upon this present manner of Ardis. To Surrey’s 
somewhat practised judgment it looked as if she were 
on her guard. If this were the case she suspected his 
ultimate object, and to do this she must think of him 
as a wooer, and to make the desired lady think of him 
as a wooer is a very advantageous first step for a man 
who intends to woo. The second step in which he 
should show himself to be a wooer Jack intended to 
take very soon. If opportunity did not come of itself 
he would make it ; that was his fashion. 

A remark by Norma one evening, to the effect that 
she did not object to this sketching business as much 
as she thought she should, because Ardis was so careful 
to let Mr. Surrey see that it was all art work, and 
nothing else, set Ardis thinking. 

She had begun to feel that she was not acting in 
accordance with her nature. She was not in the habit 
of treating any man with whom she chose to associate 
with coolness and caution. To do this was to make 
him an exception, and it was highly desirable that 
Mr. Surrey should not consider that anybody else con- 
sidered it necessary to make of him an exception in 
this way. It was natural for her to be gay and free, 
and there was no reason why Mr. Surrey should inter- 
fere with this disposition, or imagine he was interfering 
with it. 

Before she slept that night she determined she 
would be perfectly natural and treat Mr. Surrey just 
as she treated other men of her acquaintance. 


Ill 


CHAPTER X 


On the evening of the next day Roger Dunworth rode 
up to Bald Hill, and after supper Ardis took him 
aside. 

“Roger,” said she,— they had been boy and girl to- 
gether, and called each other by their Christian names, 
—“I want you to join a party to go to the Ridgeby 
Caves.” 

“Who are to be in the party?” asked Dun worth, 
quickly. 

“It is made up principally for Mr. Surrey. He is 
writing an article about this part of the country, and 
ought certainly to see the caves. Dr. Lester is going, 
and he has promised to see Mr. Prouter, who will join 
us, I know. And the Dalrymples. They were here 
this morning, and I asked them. At first Mrs. Dal- 
rymple did not agree, but when she had heard some- 
thing of the wonders of the caves she said she and her 
daughter would go. Norma and I will, of course, be 
of the party, but I think that father will not care to 
join us.” 

“Nor shall I,” said Dunworth. 

“Don’t say that,” said Ardis. “I want you to go. 
It will be ever so much pleasanter for all of us if you 
are with us. So tell me at once you will join us ! ” 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“Ardis / 7 said Roger, speaking very earnestly, “I 
shall not join any party of which that man Surrey is 
one. I tell you plainly that I do not like him and do 
not wish to associate with him. And, what is more, 
Ardis, I shall be very, very sorry to know that you 
have gone on this expedition. You will be gone three 
days ! 77 

“I know that / 7 said Ardis, “for I have twice made 
the trip, and the two nights in the old tavern are a 
great part of the fun . 77 

Roger did not immediately reply, but presently he 
said : “Of course the only thing I object to is that 
Surrey is to be of the party . 77 

“And what right have you , 77 asked Ardis, quietly, 
“to object at all? I simply invite you to join a party 
which is already formed . 77 

“Ardis , 77 said Roger, his voice not altogether steady, 
so earnestly did he speak, “I am sure you know why 
I object. I object because I love you, and because it 
gives me a pain at my heart to think that you are 
willing to go off on this three days 7 expedition, which 
Surrey cares nothing about except that it will give 
him no end of opportunities of being with you. He 
is utterly unworthy of you, and yet he has come down 
here for no other object than to try to win you . 77 

“Roger Dunworth / 7 said Ardis, fixing her dark eyes 
earnestly upon him, “I want you to understand me 
better than you do. I wish no one to speak to me of 
love, and I forbid you to do it. If any one else 
attempts to do it, I shall forbid him. I shall say no 
more to you about my objects in life, or my ambitions, 
because you do not believe in them ; but I wish, for 
years to come, to be entirely independent of all men, 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


except my father. And that wish ought to be suffi- 
cient for all who respect me or care for me. I have 
already explained this to you, but it seems to have 
had no effect. I told you I would not consider what 
you said to me, and that you should be to me exactly 
what you were before you said it.” 

“ Which is an impossibility ! ” murmured Roger. 

“Now, this,” continued Ardis, paying no attention to 
the interruption, “is the utmost stretch of kindness 
which, under the circumstances, a woman could extend 
toward a man. But you take no notice of my desires 
or of my good feeling, and come to me on the footing 
on which you choose to stand, and make objections to 
my plans for entertaining myself and my friends. N ow 
I say to you, Roger Dunworth, that I wish this 
stopped.” 

“It shall be stopped,” said Roger ; and he went 
away. 

Contrary to Dunworth’s supposition, the proposed 
trip to the Ridgeby Caves was not altogether accept- 
able to Mr. Surrey. He had been perfectly satisfied 
with the way things had been going on in the studio, 
and was quite sure that in a day or two he could there 
find, or make, the opportunity he wished for. But 
this expedition might interfere with his purposes. 
There would be a good many people together, and 
the chances for his monopoly of Ardis would be small. 
If he could have managed things his own way he 
would have had the entrance to the caves covered by 
a landslide. But he saw that it would be unwise in him 
to object to a scheme proposed for the pleasure of a 
large party, and he said nothing against it. 

On the morning on which the expedition was to 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

start, when baskets and valises were being packed, 
when the men were putting horses to the family car- 
riage and to a light wagon, and other horses were 
being saddled, when guests were arriving, and all the 
varied preparations for the expedition were making, 
Jack Surrey sauntered off by himself. His valise had 
been packed in five minutes, and as Ardis was so ex- 
tremely busy, the house possessed no attractions for 
him. He walked off toward the studio. 

“ Confound it ! ” he said to himself, as he looked 
upon the quiet old building, “I ought to be in there 
with her now, instead of gadding off on this stupid 
picnic ! And there is our old model ! He must work 
all day at hauling wood instead of sitting at his ease 
having himself immortalized ! Hello, Uncle Shad ! 
This is a wicked world, isn’t it?” 

The old negro stopped on his way to the woodhouse 
where his ox- wagon was standing, touched his hat, and 
answered : “Yes, sah, it’s a pow’ful wicked worl’ ; but 
’tain’t no wuss than ’twas yestiddy, is it, sah ? ” 

“Yes, it is,” said Surrey ; “at least, it is worse than it 
was two or three days ago. But that is out of your 
bailiwick, Uncle Shad. And, by the way, how did you 
come by such a name? You couldn’t have had an 
ancestor who was a fish, and I don’t suppose you could 
now be considered a part of the net proceeds of this 
farm.” 

“Dat ’spression’s too deep fer my understanding 
Mr. Surrey,” said the old man, “but it’s easy enough 
to tell you all about de name. My mudder she sez, 
sez she, to the preacher wot mahr’ed her, ‘I’s so 
thankful fer de blessin’s I’s got dat I’s gwine to name 
my fust three boy babies after de chillun ob Isr’el wot 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


was frown into de fiery funniss.’ An’ when I was 
bawn she name me Shadrach, but de udder cullud 
people made a deal ob fun ob dat name, an’ when 
Meshech come she call him Granville, an’ Abednego 
he was name Jake.” 

“Shadrach,” said Mr. Surrey, “I am sorry you are 
obliged to remain in the fiery furnace while your two 
brothers skipped out, but if half a dollar will be of any 
use in making amends for your fishy abbreviation, take 
that. And now tell me : Is it necessary for you to 
haul wood for the next three days ? ” 

Uncle Shad looked up, a little surprised. “It’s 
nes’sary to wu’k ,* ef ’tain’t one thing it’s anudder. I’s 
to haul wood fer de winter, an’ ef I don’t haul it to-day 
I hauls it to-morrer, an’ I keeps on till I gits a good 
deal more’n enough, an’ den I stops.” 

“Very good,” said Mr. Surrey. “I think I can find 
you something to do for a few days which will be more 
profitable to a party I know than hauling winter 
wood.” And walking quickly to the house, he pro- 
posed to Miss Claverden that Uncle Shad should go 
with them to the caves, to make himself generally 
useful and to act as model when needed. 

“You see,” said the considerate Jack, “that if we 
come across any good bits in those caves it will be a 
capital thing to have Uncle Shad along to put into 
the sketch in any sort of character that we may think 
is needed. You can’t depend on volunteer models.” 

Ardis was to be one of the riders, and in her close- 
fitting habit and riding-cap she seemed to Surrey 
handsomer than he had ever before seen her. “Mr. 
Surrey,” said she, leaning against one side of the open 
doorway, her arms folded and her riding-whip dan- 
116 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


gling from one of her gloved hands, “you have entirely 
too much foresight for this part of the country. Down 
here, when we go off on a trip like this it never occurs 
to us to take with us models in addition to our provi- 
sions and extra wraps. We would as soon think of 
carrying a piano or an encyclopedia. And what is 
more, sir, I wish it understood that I am not going on 
this little excursion to draw or to work in any way ; 
I am going for pure amusement, and I shall leave my 
paper, pencils, and models at home. Now don’t you 
think that will he sensible ? ” 

Mr. Surrey felt obliged to say that he supposed it 
would be, and at that moment Ardis was called away 
by an urgent summons from Norma. When she left 
him, she smiled. “I should not have imagined that he 
would propose such a transparent scheme for dividing 
the party ! ” 

Norma’s summons was a very important one. A 
message had just arrived from Mrs. Dalrymple that in 
consequence of the unannounced return of her son from 
a long journey, she and her family would not be able 
to join the expedition to the Ridgeby Caves. This 
was a disastrous blow. Without a matron how could 
there be a party? 

“It is just like that woman ! ” exclaimed Norma. 
“I have only seen her once, but I know her through 
and through. She agreed to go because it gave her 
importance, and now, after we have taken all the 
trouble to get everything ready, she steps back simply 
for the pleasure of crushing us.” 

“Of course,” said Ardis, “this settles it.” 

“Of course it does,” said Norma, “and we may as 
well go out and tell them to scatter to their homes.” 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Dr. Lester was now on the porch with Mr. Surrey 
and the major j and Tom Prouter, accompanied by 
Mr. Cruppledean, had just ridden up. Jack Surrey 
was the only one of the gentlemen who received the 
news with equanimity. He was perfectly satisfied to 
substitute studio experiences for those of a mountain 
expedition. Major Claverden was decidedly angry, 
but he expressed himself with moderation. 

“This conduct surprises me,” he said. “Does she not 
know that her action totally subverts the purposes and 
pleasures of a large party? And could she not have 
brought her son with her ? Did she suppose he would 
not be made welcome as one of her family ?” And 
unable to say more without committing what he would 
consider a breach of decorum, he retired to the library, 
where he walked up and down in silence. 

Dr. Lester was indignant that a plan proposed and 
desired by Miss Ardis should be interfered with ; and 
Mr. Cruppledean, who had come prepared to enjoy a 
jolly jaunt, was downcast to find that the opportunity 
was taken away from him. 

But Tom Prouter was rebellious. By dint of the 
deepest thought and wildest exertion he had given 
himself a three days’ holiday. He had hired a substi- 
tute, with orders to ride about the country and look 
at milch cows, to see that the men were at work early 
and late, to overlook the systematic delivery of the 
milk, to dash here and there and everywhere with a 
big cattle-whip in his hand and his mind full of pans, 
cans, ensilage, and pasture. He was not going to give 
up the good time he had expected without a struggle. 

“I wouldn’t stand it, Miss Claverden,” he said, “if I 
were you ! I would not let a person like that say 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


whether I should go on an excursion or not. Now, let 
me tell you, if you really think it is necessary to have 
an elderly party along to keep us quiet, I’ll provide 
one. I’ll go fetch Miss Airpenny. She is old enough 
to have been dug up with the Pharaohs. She hasn’t 
started on her journey yet because her money hasn’t 
come from home. And this sort of trip will be just 
the thing to keep her from grumbling. She’ll jump 
at it ! May I go for her, Miss Claverden ? I can ride 
to Loch Leven in half an hour, and back in the same 
time ; and giving her fifteen minutes to get ready, 
I’ll have her here in an hour and a quarter.” 

This proposition was discussed by the company, 
although Surrey did not say much. Norma was in 
favor of inviting Miss Airpenny ; she had never seen 
her, and greatly desired to do so. Ardis reflected a 
little before speaking. She had proposed this expedi- 
tion partly for the Dalrymples. She was not greatly in- 
terested in this family, but they were new-comers and 
had never seen the caves, and her generous disposition 
prompted her to invite them to go there. She was, 
however, very willing to go herself, and to relieve the 
party from the disappointment which they evidently 
felt 5 so, after a few words with her father, she con- 
sented to Mr. Prouter’s plan. 

“I do not expect you back in an hour and a quar- 
ter,” she said. “We shall have an early dinner, and 
as the moon is nearly full, it will not matter if we 
arrive at Purley’s Tavern a little late.” 

The words were scarcely out of her mouth when 
Prouter was down the steps, on his horse, and off at a 
mad gallop. Ardis had intended to send Miss Airpenny 
, a formal invitation, but no time had been given her. 

119 


CHAPTER XI 


The early dinner was nearly ready when Cruppledean, 
who was smoking his pipe under the trees, suddenly 
shouted : “Hi ! they are coming ! ” And a moment 
later Prouter and Miss Airpenny cantered up to the 
house. The appearance of the lady was calculated to 
excite attention. She was somewhere between forty 
and sixty years of age, wore a man’s felt hat, with her 
fluffy brown hair flying out from beneath it and flap- 
ping around her ruddy, weather-beaten face, and was 
dressed in a reddish-brown riding-habit, very long in 
the skirt, and fastened around her capacious form in 
such a way as to give her the appearance of two large 
brown bags. She rode a big horse on a hard canter, 
and bounced up and down in a way that made ob- 
servers wonder how she kept her seat. Before assist- 
ance could reach her she dismounted and came forward 
with quick and vigorous steps. She accepted with 
evident gratification the welcome given her by Major 
Claverden and his daughter, and gave everybody 
present an energetic hand-shake. 

“Xow, really,” said she, her quick blue eyes moving 
from one member of the party to another, “I am very 
pleased that you sent Mr. Prouter to fetch me. I want 
to see those Ridgeby Caves, and I should have gone 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


there before, but the people told me that no woman 
ought to ride as far as that and back by herself, though 
I am sure it must be an odd sort of country where I 
can’t do that.” 

Soon after dinner the party started off, Miss Air- 
penny on her big horse, for when it was possible for 
her to walk or ride she disdained a carriage. Norma 
and Dr. Lester had the carriage to themselves the 
greater part of the time, although toward evening 
they were joined by Ardis and Mr. Surrey, the lat- 
ter having been tired of riding some time before he 
changed his saddle for the carriage-seat. 

They arrived at the tavern, half-way up the moun- 
tain-side, before the light of the moon was really 
needed to show them their way, and as Purley was 
always expecting parties of this kind, a hot and plen- 
tiful supper was soon ready for them. 

Ardis was in a gay and genial mood. Her healthy 
soul and body liked this wild country, where even the 
houses were full of the air of out-of-doors. She liked 
Miss Airpenny, too, that hearty rough-rider, who 
showed such an energetic delight in the excursion. 

When they first set out Ardis had been quieter than 
was her wont. Two things had weighed a little on 
her spirits. One was Roger Dunworth’s behavior. 
Heretofore an excursion of this kind without Roger 
Dunworth would have seemed impossible. He was 
always looked upon as a leader, and if a time pro- 
posed did not suit his convenience the affair was post- 
poned. His absence, and, more than that, the cause of 
it, could not fail to be disquieting. The other weight 
was a lighter one. She fancied that Mr. Surrey would 
like to take advantage of this expedition to estab- 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


lish a closer intimacy between them than she had any 
desire for ; and while her natural intrepidity of spirit 
forbade any fear that she would not be able to regu- 
late her intercourse with Mr. Surrey to suit herself, 
she disliked the idea that any such regulation would 
be necessary. 

But the invigorating air of the mountain and the 
inspiriting motion of her sprightly mare had soon 
driven all depression from her mind, and when the 
evening grew a little chilly at the setting of the sun, 
and she entered the carriage, she was as gay -hearted 
a girl as ever laughed on mountain-side. 

The night was cool, and the party gathered around 
the wood fire in the tavern parlor and told stories. 
Dr. Lester related curious facts which had come within 
his reading or his observation. Miss Airpenny told a 
thrilling tale of how she had once been nearly precipi- 
tated by the pressure of an inquisitive crowd of tourists 
into the arms of a reigning sovereign. Norma told of 
an old lady in a gray shawl, with long finger-bones 
coming out of the ends of black mitts, who was sup- 
posed to be a Maria Lumsley, who married a Cranton 
near the end of the last century. This ancestor regu- 
larly appeared in an upper, unused room at Heatherley 
toward evening on a certain day in November ; but as 
the particular date had been forgotten, Norma de- 
clared she never went into that room in the month of 
November, and if any others of the family had hap- 
pened into that room on that particular day they had 
never mentioned it. Mr. Surrey related with admi- 
rable effect a humorous tale. And Ardis, at Norma’s 
request, related a little romance she had composed 
some time before. It was a story of the Civil War, 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


and its heroine was a Southern woman who had a 
married sister in the North. The husband of this 
sister, at the head of troops, came and ravaged the 
estate of the heroine, who, being of a proud and 
haughty spirit, disdained to curry favor of the enemy 
by revealing her identity, and saw her crops destroyed 
and buildings burned without allowing the officer 
conducting the devastation to know that she was his 
wife’s sister. 

“That is the kind of woman I like ! ” said Norma, 
with sparkling eyes. “That is true patriotism ! ” 

“I do not feel so sure as when I wrote the story,” 
said Ardis, “that she did right. I think she ought to 
have considered her sister’s feelings as well as her own.” 

“For my part,” said Miss Airpenny, “I think she 
was an arrant fool. If such a woman had really existed 
I should say that she ought to have had a riding-whip 
applied to her back for neglecting to take care of her 
husband’s property while he was away doing his duty 
in the war.” 

Dr. Lester stood up warmly for the heroine, as he 
would have stood up for any heroine created by Miss 
Ardis. 

The discussion which followed was ended by Ardis, 
who declared that Mr. Prouter and Mr. Cruppledean 
must each tell a story without further delay. For 
half an hour Cruppledean had been revolving in his 
mind a tradition of an old family ghost which he 
thought would be a good thing to tell when his turn 
came ; but being thus suddenly called upon, the whole 
story, ghost and all, utterly vanished from his mind, 
and he was obliged to admit that he had nothing to 
tell. 


123 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Prouter, on the contrary, was quite ready. With 
an air of briskness and alacrity he moved himself for- 
ward to the edge of his chair, sat up very straight, 
put one hand on each knee, and with sparkling eyes 
and glowing cheeks began to tell an anecdote of a 
farmer of Fligwich who exchanged two pigs for a set- 
ting goose, and by virtue of this bargain became the 
possessor of a little parlor organ which he gave to the 
dissenting chapel he attended. Just how the bargain 
happened to turn out in this way Mr. Prouter could 
not state, having forgotten some of the points ; but it 
struck him as being extraordinarily odd, and he laughed 
immensely as he told the story. 

At the conclusion of this lively story, which truly 
amused everybody, the party retired to their rooms. 

Dr. Lester went to sleep a happy man. He had been 
all day with Ardis, and that was sufficient for him. 
Mr. Surrey retired dissatisfied. He had been all day 
with Ardis, but that was not sufficient for him. 

Prouter and Cruppledean had beds in the same room. 
“Cruppledean,” said the former, just before putting 
his head on his pillow, “did you ever in your life see 
a girl like that? Do you believe it would be possible 
to induce her to marry a man who sold milk ? ” 

“No,” said Cruppledean, “I don’t. And, what is 
more, I don’t believe she would marry you, no matter 
what you sold, nor what you did do, nor what you 
didn’t do ! ” 

“Really?” said Prouter. 

“Yes, really,” was the answer. 

“Cruppledean,” said Prouter, “you can put out the 
light.” And he dropped his head on the pillow and 
pulled up the bed-coverings. 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


After an early breakfast the next morning a lively 
company, under the charge of Purley and another 
guide, set out to explore the Ridgeby Caves. A walk 
of half a mile brought them to the entrance of the 
extensive and partially unexplored caverns which ran 
into the side and down into the depths of the low 
mountain-range to which they had travelled the day 
before. 

There was much to be seen here in the way of wind- 
ing passages, unfathomable ravines, and chambers 
large and small, high-domed or low-roofed, all hung 
and adorned with stalactites and strange and curious 
formations which water, dripping for long ages 
through porous soil, had produced in fantastic profu- 
sion. They wandered for hours, all the party inter- 
ested, and Miss Airpenny filled with enthusiastic 
desire to guide the guides. In a great circular room, 
from the ceiling of which hung a massive structure 
that, by the aid of lights and a little imagination, 
might be made into a very good chandelier, they ate 
the refreshments they had brought with them. Then 
they set out on their return. 

Jack Surrey had been in a well-satisfied mood during 
their progress through the devious windings and 
openings of the caves. He had explored caves before, 
but this one possessed some novel features. The merry 
companionship was exactly to Mr. Jack’s liking. To 
be sure, he would have been much better pleased to do 
the greater part of the wandering with Ardis only, but 
this, of course, was impossible, and he was obliged to 
content himself with a share in the general gayety in 
which he became a leader. 

But when he heard that in returning, the party 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


would retrace tlie route by which they had traversed 
the caves, he was dissatisfied. Going back over the 
same road was not a thing that suited him. He urged 
the guides to take them back some other way, but 
they declared no other route had yet been opened. 
Surrey was therefore compelled to go with the rest of 
the party over the same ground they had travelled 
before ; but he lagged behind, with his candle, looking 
into dark openings to the right or left, and resolving 
to call the company back if he found anything novel. 
He saw nothing, however, of any importance ; but 
when they were not very far from the entrance to the 
caves he remembered a large opening which they had 
passed shortly after coming in, and about which he 
had spoken to Purley, who told him that it was too 
full of obstructions to admit of the entrance of a party. 

Jack was not easily deterred by obstructions when 
he wanted to do anything, and he determined to take 
a look into this opening. So he fell back consider- 
ably behind the others, and when he reached the 
yawning aperture, which he well remembered, he 
quietly slipped into it. There was no danger that he 
would lose his way when he came out, for he could 
see at a distance the bright twinkle of the lantern 
which stood at the bottom of the steps which led up 
to the entrance to the caves. 

Holding up his candle, Surrey could see that he was 
in a large cavern, the floor of which was tolerably 
smooth, and where the only obstacles to his progress 
were the great, pointed stalactites which hung down 
from the low roof. With a light, however, it was easy 
to avoid these, and he went on a short distance, until 
he came to an opening on the right which led into 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


another cave, at the entrance to which lay some rough 
blocks of stone. Stepping over these, he entered the 
second cave, and, raising his candle, looked about 
him. He was in a rocky chamber very like the other, 
except that the roof was higher and there did not 
seem to be so many stalactites. Some of these, how- 
ever, were very long, and hung low. He was about 
to step forward to discover, if possible, the extent of 
this cavern, when, suddenly, something dark appeared 
at his shoulder, and instantly his light was blown out. 

With an exclamation Surrey turned quickly $ but 
all was black about him. Such wall-like darkness he 
had never imagined. But he had little time to think 
of this, for in the next instant he received a powerful 
blow on the side of his neck, almost instantly followed 
by another on the back of his head. With a quick 
turn, Surrey stretched out his arms and grappled 
something. At the first touch of this something 
Surrey fancied that he had hold of a huge reptile, for 
it was cold and smooth and damp $ but another blow, 
delivered on his breast, and his instant seizure of the 
arm which gave it, assured him that he had a man to 
deal with. 

Surrey was strong, brave, and a first-rate boxer. 
Surprise had given way to anger, and with a muttered 
curse he sent a heavy right-hand blow at the man he 
held. There was no time for expostulation or even 
outcry, for the man now closed with him and endeav- 
ored to throw him to the ground. This, with a tough 
fellow like Surrey, was no easy matter, and the ensu- 
ing struggle became a violent one, in the midst of 
which Surrey remembered that his greatest danger 
lay in accidentally striking one of the stalactites which 
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hung from the roof. He, therefore, endeavored to 
throw the man, in order that the fight might be con- 
tinued on the ground $ but his assailant was wiry and 
agile, and evidently wore no shoes,— for his feet made 
no sound on the ground,— and this gave him an ad- 
vantage over Surrey on the wet and slippery floor. 

The next instant proved that Surrey’s fears were 
well founded, for the two struck together against a 
great stalactite with such force that they broke it off, 
and it fell with a thud that shook the ground. “ Now 
down we must go ! ” thought Surrey— for he knew 
that if his head had struck that stalactite it would 
have been all over with him ; and by a tremendous 
effort he lifted his antagonist a few inches, giving him 
at the same time a sudden twist. The man lost his 
footing, but retained his vigorous clutch on Surrey, 
and the two fell heavily to the ground. 

Surrey now had but one thought, and that was to 
kill the man, or devil, or whatever it was, who had 
attacked him in this atrocious and dastardly way. 
But his assailant was difficult to kill. Blow after 
blow Jack poured upon him as they struggled on the 
floor, but blow after blow he received from the mute 
and furious being with whom he strove. Once he 
thought he heard voices, but he had no breath with 
which to call out. All his powers were required to 
keep his savage enemy from getting the better of him. 

They rolled upon the floor, sometimes one upper- 
most, sometimes the other ; but Surrey never tried to 
rise, for fear of the stalactites. On the wet and slime 
of the floor he knew that he must finish the fight ; 
and there he finished it. By a sudden and powerful 
effort he put himself on his knees, with the man be- 
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neath him, and from this advantageous position he 
dealt several quick and heavy blows upon the body 
of his foe. At this the man released his hold upon 
him, and by a quick roll jerked himself loose from 
Surrey’s grasp, and slipped away, like a snake, into 
the blackness. 

Surrey remained on his knees, panting for breath. 
He had not killed the villain. Would he attack him 
again? He remained motionless and listened, but 
not so much as the pat of a bare foot upon the floor 
could he hear. He knew not how long he had re- 
tained this position, when he felt that he was getting 
weak, and that he must lose no time in making his 
way out of this place. 

Surrey had been in serious plights before this day, 
and was accustomed to quick thinking. He remem- 
bered that he had made but few steps into this second 
chamber when he had stopped to look about him. In 
the struggle which had followed the extinguishment 
of the light it was not probable that he had moved 
very far from the place where he had stopped. His 
greatest difficulty, therefore, would be to discover 
which way he must go in order to reach the opening 
between the second cave and the first. His greatest 
danger was that his assailant, having recovered a little 
breath and vigor, might attack him again, and this 
time, perhaps, with a weapon. The striking of a 
match and the search for his candle would betray his 
position to the other, but this he determined to risk. 
The rascal was probably as badly used up as he was, 
and no matter what might happen, he must try to get 
out of this place. 

He felt for his match-box, but found that that part of 
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the skirt of his coat containing the pocket with the 
matches in it had been torn off in the combat. He 
felt around him in every direction, but could not dis- 
cover it. There was nothing now to be done but to 
find the opening without a light. He must grope for 
a few yards in a straight line from the spot where he 
knelt, and then endeavor to move sidewise without 
increasing his distance from the central point from 
which he started. If he could do this, he thought he 
must reach the opening of the chamber. Should he 
encounter his enemy he must do his best. There was 
no use in thinking any more about that contingency. 

On his hands and knees Surrey crept forward for 
about twenty feet ; then he put up his hand to feel 
before him, but touched nothing. Moving sidewise, 
and trying not to go either backward or forward, he 
was touched on the shoulder by a sharp point, and he 
suddenly shrank back as from the knife of a foe ; but 
putting out his hand, he found that this was a sta- 
lactite which reached down to within a short distance 
of the floor. Passing this, he soon found himself among 
other stalactites, close together, and cold and hard, 
like great javelins ready to drop upon him in the 
blackness. He knew that he had passed through no 
such obstructions as these, and so, backing a little, he 
continued to move in a sidelong direction. 

Several times he crept forward and stretched out 
his arm, but touched nothing. Then he receded a 
little, and endeavored to keep on in his circular 
course. Presently, in putting out his hand, he touched 
what seemed to be an upright rock. Rising cautiously 
to his feet, with his hand over his head to protect 
himself from down-reaching points, he found that he 
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was in front of a rough wall. Moving slowly along 
this, with his hands upon its surface, he soon came to 
a break in it. Keaching downward, he felt a line of 
low rocks a foot or two in height, and his heart leaped 
with joy. This, he believed, was the slight wall over 
which he had stepped when entering this second 
chamber. 

Clambering over this wall, Surrey felt sure he was 
in the cave he had first entered when he left the main 
passage. He remembered that he had turned to his 
right in order to go into the second chamber, and he, 
therefore, began immediately to make his way toward 
the left. The stalactites in this cave hung lower than 
in the second one, and on this account he was afraid 
to walk upright, and proceeded on his hands and 
knees. Frequently his course was impeded by strong 
bars coming down from the roof or up from the floor, 
but he guarded his head as well as he could, and 
moved slowly. Sometimes the stalactites hung so 
close together that he knew he must be out of the 
path he had taken when he passed through the cave 
with his light. He would then slightly alter his 
course. 

He groped on, he knew not how long nor how far, 
until at last, meeting with no more stalactites, he was 
seized by a sudden fear that perhaps he had got into 
a place where he had never been before, and, for the 
first time, a chill of terror passed through him. As 
long as he could imagine the place where he was 
from having been in it, his courage stood by him, but 
this horrible emptiness of blackness bewildered him, 
and he was afraid. He raised his head and called out 
at the top of his voice. Up to this time he had made 
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no outcry. His reason had told him that if his party 
were near enough to hear him he would hear them, 
and throughout his whole progress through the dark- 
ness he had endeavored to move so quietly that no 
sound made by him should enable his assailant to fol- 
low him. 

Now he forgot everything and called out j but his 
voice sounded muffled and weak. 

What help could he expect from a call like that? 
Nervously trembling, and unwilling to move an inch 
forward, he turned completely about, and there, be- 
fore his eyes, but far away, he saw a twinkle of light. 

He felt the glad blood rushing to his face. Now he 
knew where he was. He had actually made his way 
into the main passage, but had been moving in the 
wrong direction. He rose to his feet, and with arms 
stretched before him and his eyes fixed upon the 
light, he stepped forward as rapidly as possible. 
That twinkling lantern in the distance simply indi- 
cated its own position ; it shed no light upon his path. 
Sometimes he stumbled against the wall on one side, 
and sometimes he struck it on the other ; now the 
footway was smooth, and then he found it rough and 
jagged. But with his eyes on the light he kept 
straight on. 

He began to be very tired, and again he called out, 
but his voice seemed to penetrate only a yard or two. 
He walked on, though much slower than at first, until 
he reached the lantern and the bottom of the steep 
steps that led up to the little house built over the 
entrance to the caves. For a minute or two he sat 
upon the bottom step to rest, and then on his hands 
and feet he clambered up. He reached the top of 
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the stairway, and staggered to the open door of the 
house. The day was cool for the season and the after- 
noon was well advanced, but coming from the low 
temperature of the caves, it seemed to Surrey as if he 
had stepped into the hot air of a furnace, and he 
gasped for breath. 


133 


CHAPTER XII 


Scarcely had he made a step from the door of the 
little house, scarcely had he taken a breath of the 
outer air which seemed to him so suffocating, when 
Jack Surrey heard sudden cries from female voices, 
and turning, he saw Ardis and Xorma sitting under 
the shade of a tree. Instantly the two girls arose and 
ran toward him. 

“Mr. Surrey ! ” exclaimed Ardis. “What is the 
matter with you ? Where have you been ? ” 

Surrey presented good cause for amazement. His 
face was pallid and smeared with dirt ; his clothes 
were torn and covered with dingy white slime from 
the floor of the cave ; his form was trembling as he 
stood ; and, worse than all, from his left arm, from 
which the coat sleeve was nearly torn away, blood 
came dripping down, drop by drop, upon the ground. 

Xorma shrieked. “He is bleeding ! ” she cried. 

Surrey smiled a weak, faint smile. “I have had a 
rough time,” he said. “ Tell you about it after a while. 
Didn’t know I was cut. I must sit down.” 

“He is faint ! ” said Ardis. “Xorma, is there any 
water?” 

Xorma dashed into the little house. There was a 
pitcher on a table, but it was empty. She seized it 
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and came running out. She stopped for a moment, 
looking about her. “ There must be water down the 
hill,” she said ; “I will get some.” And away she ran. 

Surrey sat down at the foot of a tree, his back 
against the trunk. Ardis took out her handkerchief, 
and approached him. Her face was full of pity, but 
she asked no questions. 

“Let me tie up the cut,” she said. “It must not 
be allowed to bleed in that way.” 

Surrey looked at his arm. The lower part of the 
shirt sleeve had been torn away, and a few inches 
above his wrist there was a jagged wound which had 
no doubt been cut by a sharp stone in the course of 
the mad struggle in the cave. “I wondered why I 
felt so weak,” he said. “It wasn’t natural. Please 
tie it up.” 

Ardis felt a sort of dread coming over her. Mr. 
Surrey looked so pale and so wonderfully changed 
from the robust man who had gone into the caves 
that she thought he must have been bleeding for a 
long time, and might die before her eyes. But this 
feeling did not cause her to hesitate an instant. 
Kneeling down beside him, she prepared to put her 
handkerchief around his arm. 

“Twist it up,” said Surrey, “and tie it below the 
cut. It’s a vein.” 

Ardis did as she was directed. By Surrey’s wish she 
pulled it tight with all her force, and tied it in a hard 
knot. 

“Where are all the people?” asked Surrey. His 
voice was low and he spoke in short sentences, but 
his desire to talk had not left him. 

“They have gone to look for you,” said Ardis. 

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“Everybody went but Norma and me. Mr. Purley 
thought you had taken a path a long way back which 
looks very much like the proper passage, but which 
leads to some deep place or other. He did not want 
any woman to go, but Miss Airpenny would not be 
turned back. She said you might need a nurse. I 
wish she were here ! I really believe that place is 
bleeding as badly as ever ! ” 

Surrey did not wish Miss Airpenny were there, but 
he forbore from saying so. He turned his eyes from 
Ardis to his arm. “That is so,” he said. “The liga- 
ture does not press the vein. If you would put your 
thumb on it I think you might stop the bleeding 
until some one comes.” 

Ardis did not think that perhaps he had strength 
enough to put his own thumb on the vein, but pulling 
down the useless handkerchief, she clasped his arm 
with her right hand, and placed her thumb here and 
there until she put it over the vein and saw that the 
pressure stopped the flow of blood. 

Kneeling thus by the half-prostrate man and hold- 
ing his wrist in her hand, she looked from side to side 
and listened. Oh, that somebody would come ! At 
any moment he might swoon or even die before her ! 

Surrey felt very much exhausted, but his position 
was a restful one to his body and a most animating 
one to his mind. Here was the beautiful woman he 
loved kneeling by his side, checking the flow of his 
life-blood with her soft hand, and her lovely eyes filled 
with pity and anxiety for him ; and, better than all, 
she was here alone with him. 

It would have been difficult to find any man, except 
Surrey, who would have thought this a fitting moment 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


in which to declare his affection for the woman who 
was thus ministering to him in his sad condition. 
Few men would have considered themselves able in 
such a case to speak their minds, and fewer still 
would have dared to presume upon the opportunity. 
But Surrey generally felt himself able to do what he 
wanted to do ; and as for daring, that was a part of 
his nature. This was one of the chances to speak 
with Ardis which he had been hoping for, and, in- 
deed, better than anything he had hoped for, for it 
was plain enough that her thoughts were fixed ear- 
nestly on him. 

“Ardis,” said he, “for a long time I have wor- 
shipped you as an angel, and it seems so fitting that 
it should be you who are with me now. You are my 
angel ! Dear love, will you not be always that? 
Will you not be my wife?” 

The blood rushed into the face of Ardis. Anger, 
astonishment, contempt, and even horror, struggled 
within her. She made a motion as if to spring to her 
feet, and then suddenly remembered that if she re- 
leased her hold on the man’s wrist his remaining 
blood might ebb from him and leave him dead before 
her ! It was so absolutely necessary to stop the 
bleeding that even now she would not remove her 
hand. To upbraid this pallid sufferer, perhaps upon 
the verge of death, was impossible ! To say any- 
thing was impossible. Oh, that some one would come ! 
that some one would come ! Her face, her whole 
body, seemed on fire. 

Her silence emboldened Surrey. “Will you not 
speak to me, my love ? ” he said. And slowly raising 
his right hand, he extended it toward her. She was 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


about to tell him that if he touched her she would 
drop his arm and let him bleed, when she heard the 
sound of horse’s hoofs upon the stony road near by, 
and in a moment around a clump of bushes not a 
hundred feet away there came a mounted man. 
With joy in her eyes Ardis recognized Roger Dun- 
worth. 

The horse stopped with a sudden jerk. The eyes 
of Dunworth stood wide and wild in his face, over 
which fell a sudden mask of anguish and dismay. He 
sat as if he had been struck stiff by an electric shock. 

During the night after he had parted with Ardis, 
and all through the next day and the next night, 
Roger had thought and re-thought, and had tortured 
his brain with all manner of things. He was most 
earnestly in love, and his earnestness had become wild 
distraction, and his distraction fierce jealousy, as he 
thought of his rival, that comparative stranger, spend- 
ing these three days of excursion with Ardis. It 
mattered not to him how many others were in the 
party, or who they were ; it maddened him to think 
of Ardis riding with this man, walking with him, be- 
ing with him, through these three days. It was cruel 
in her, knowing what she did, to do this thing— to 
scorn his feelings and to put this misery on him. 

And then there had come a revulsion of feeling. 
He had been cruel. He should have gone with her. 
She wanted him to go— she had asked him. His 
presence would have protected her from the atten- 
tions of this man. He had behaved basely in treating 
her invitation as he had treated it. But back to him 
came the thought that his feelings had been entirely 
disregarded. She had gone off with this man, not 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


caring whether or not her going hurt to the death the 
friend of her youth, her declared lover! And this, 
too, when there had been an opportunity to give up 
the expedition ; for he had heard of the withdrawal 
of the Dalrymple family. 

On this morning, however, his feelings regarding 
himself, regarding Ardis, and regarding Surrey had 
all united to make it impossible for him to remain 
any longer at home while these others had gone wan- 
dering away together. If she wanted his company at 
the Ridgeby Caves, he must go ; if she did not want 
him, he must go. And he saddled his horse and went. 

At the sight of Ardis and Surrey alone together, 
sitting close to each other under the shade of a tree, 
she with her face flushed by emotion and holding him 
by the hand, Roger stopped, and to him the whole 
world stopped. He did not notice Surrey’s pallor nor 
his disordered condition. He only knew that it was 
he, and that Ardis was kneeling close to him with 
flushed face and holding his hand. 

To a soul so stirred and torn this blow was too 
heavy. His head sank upon his breast, and with a 
groan that was almost like a cry he whirled his horse 
around and dashed away. 

The delight which had sprung up in Ardis’s heart 
when she first perceived Roger, vanished when she 
fairly looked upon his face. Instantly she knew all 
that he thought, and that knowledge driving from 
her mind everything else, she dropped Surrey’s wrist 
and rose to her feet, her lips parted to speak. But it 
was too late. All that Roger had seen, all that he had 
felt, had been seen and felt in a moment. The next 
moment he was gone ! 


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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Ardis made some quick steps forward, as pale now 
as the man who leaned against the tree. She looked 
down the road, but there was nothing to be seen, 
although she could still hear the clatter of hoofs upon 
the stones. 

Surrey had seen all, and the corners of his mouth fell 
grimly. In the hand which had been extended toward 
Ardis he took his wounded wrist and pressed upon the 
vein. Whatever had happened or might happen, it 
would not do for him to lose any more of his strength. 

There was a quick crushing through underbrush, 
and Norma, panting, red-faced, and bearing a pitcher 
of water, came hurrying up. The little stream in the 
ravine had been dry, and she had pushed through 
bushes and briers to a spring she knew of. The way 
by the course she took was difficult, and every hin- 
drance was increased by her nervous fear that the man 
would swoon or die before she got back. 

Ardis had not yet found the heart nor Norma the 
breath to speak to each other, and the latter was ap- 
proaching Surrey with the water,— although what to 
do with it she did not know,— when voices, clear and 
loud, were heard, and Purley, followed by Miss Air- 
penny and Dr. Lester, came running from the little 
house. Not finding any trace of Surrey along the 
passage they had supposed he had taken, one of the 
guides, with Prouter and Cruppledean, had gone back 
along the main route, while Purley and the two others 
had hurried on toward the entrance to explore some 
of the chambers they had passed. In one of these 
they found part of Surrey’s coat, his candle trampled 
to pieces, and blood-spots on the floor. By these 
spots they traced him to the entrance. 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


The new-comers made rapid and excited inquiries 
as to what had happened, but Surrey shook his head 
and declined to talk on the subject until he felt better. 
When she found he was wounded, Miss Airpenny was 
instantly down on her knees beside him. 

“Doctor,” she said, “you must attend to this wound 
instantly ! ” 

The doctor stepped forward. “I must beg to be 
excused,” he said. “I never practise either medicine 
or surgery. I will do whatever I can for this gentle- 
man, but I do not attend to wounds.” 

A sharp inquiry as to why he allowed himself to be 
called doctor was on Miss Airpenny’s lips, but there 
was no time to waste in remarks of this sort, and she 
said : “Has anybody a fish-hook about him?” 

Dr. Lester felt in his waistcoat pocket. He had all 
sorts of things about him, and soon produced a small 
fish-hook. “I have also a bit of adhesive plaster,” he 
said, “and a pair of scissors and a piece of thread.” 

“Give them to me,” said Miss Airpenny. Directing 
. Surrey to take his thumb from his wrist, Miss Air- 
penny discovered by the flow of blood the exact 
position of the broken vein, and with the point of the 
fish-hook she gently drew it out, and while Purley 
held it she deftly tied it up with a silk thread. Then 
she released it, closed up the wound, and placed sev- 
eral strips of adhesive plaster across it to keep the edges 
together ; after which she made a ligature of a twisted 
handkerchief, which she passed around the arm below 
the cut and tied loosely. A compress made of a little 
wad from another handkerchief was placed over the 
vein, and with a short stick the handkerchief was 
twisted until the compress was held so firmly on the 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


vein that there was no danger of undue pressure on 
the silken ligature during the removal of the patient. 
With the remaining handkerchiefs of the party the 
stick was secured in position and a sling was made for 
the arm. 

“Now, then/’ said Miss Airpenny, “has anybody any 
whiskey?” 

Purley had some j and when a small dose was ad- 
ministered, Miss Airpenny declared that the man was 
ready to be moved, if there were any way of moving 
him except on his own legs. 

Surrey, who had had a good rest, and who already 
felt invigorated by the whiskey, said that he could 
walk to the tavern if he had a little help ; and having 
been raised to his feet, Dr. Lester and Purley, both 
strong men, took hold of him, one under each arm, and 
gave him such support that his own legs had a very 
easy time of it during the slow walk to the tavern. 
Miss Airpenny walked sometimes before, sometimes 
behind this group, gratified to see that her patient 
bore the little journey very well. 

During this scene Ardis and Norma had stood to- 
gether, but apart from the others. In the heart of 
Ardis there was a dim feeling of thankfulness that 
Norma had been with her when the people came from 
the cave, but it was so mixed up with other feelings 
that she scarcely recognized it. 

“You must have been dreadfully frightened,” said 
Norma, “for you are almost as pale as Mr. Surrey ! I 
am very sure that if a man is on the point of fainting 
away or anything like that, I should rather go off and 
do something than stay with him.” 

“Do I look pale?” said Ardis. “I have been—” 
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“Nearly scared out of your wits,” said Norma, “for 
fear the man should expire before your very eyes ! I 
understand that feeling perfectly, and I do not wonder 
that your nerves gave way. I was dreadfully upset 
myself, rushing about after water and being afraid 
something would happen before I could get back ! And 
do you know, Ardis, that just now, when I went to 
that house to put down the pitcher, I saw a pail of 
water under a table ! If I had seen that—” 

“O Norma, Norma !” said Ardis, her words coming 
from her with an earnestness that astonished her com- 
panion, “if you had but seen it! if you had but 
seen it ! ” 

The other guide, with the two young Englishmen, 
now came running from the entrance to the caves ; 
and when they had been told that Mr. Surrey had met 
with an accident and was on his way to the tavern, the 
five set off down the mountain. 

That evening, after supper, Surrey felt strong 
enough to tell the story of his mishap in the cave, 
and great consternation was occasioned. Such a thing 
had never been heard of! That a miscreant who 
would make such a felonious attack as this should be 
found in the K-idgeby Caves, or indeed in any part of 
the surrounding country, was almost incredible ! It 
seemed as if Mr. Surrey must have been attacked by 
a demon of the earth, for Purley was confident that 
no human being could get either into or out of the 
caves without his knowing it. The door of the stair- 
way leading down into the caves was always kept 
locked. 

When he had opened it that morning the lock was 
in perfect order, and when the party started on their 
143 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


tour of the caves he had locked it behind them. But 
if an intruder were in there, that person must be in 
there yet, for the door had been locked that afternoon 
by the guide who left last. 

Purley was much disturbed at this occurrence, not 
only on Mr. Surrey’s account, but on his own ; for it 
would be very detrimental to his business as tavern- 
keeper and guide if intending visitors to the Ridgeby 
Caves should have reason to fear that they might be 
attacked either by men or demons while in the bowels 
of the earth. He promised that early the next day he 
would collect a party of armed men and explore every 
part of the caves, and if any man were concealed there 
he would be found. 

The conversation during the evening turned entirely 
upon the assault; but no one was able to offer any 
reasonable suggestion in regard to it. It might have 
been that the man intended to rob Mr. Surrey, but 
was prevented by his vigorous resistance ; but as no 
person likely to make such an attack was known to 
exist on the surface of the county, no reason could be 
adduced why he should exist beneath its surface. 

It was about nine o’clock when the door of the 
tavern parlor opened, and a young man, a stranger to 
all present, entered. He stopped at the door, bowed 
to the company, and gazed about him. Every one 
stopped talking and looked at him ; aud it flashed into 
the mind of Norma that perhaps this was the miscreant 
of the caves, who was about to select another victim. 
But this notion was a very transient one, for it was 
impossible to look upon this young man as one ad- 
dicted to violent deeds. He was of medium height, 
rather slender. He wore a neatly fitting suit of dark 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


gray ; his collar was turned down very low, and a “black 
silk handkerchief was knotted in a large bow at his 
throat. His handsome face showed no sign of beard 
or mustache. His large eyes moved with an expres- 
sion of placid inquiry from one person to another, and 
his long hair was brushed behind his ears. 

He stood in a graceful attitude of indecision for 
some moments, when suddenly a gleam came into his 
eyes, and he changed his position to one of successful 
accomplishment. “Ah ! ” he said,— he was looking at 
Ardis as he spoke,— “I have made no mistake. You 
must pardon me, Miss Claverden, for intruding upon 
you and your company, but my excuse shall be quickly 
forthcoming. My name is Dalrymple— Egbert Dal- 
rymple. When I reached my father’s house a day or 
two ago, I was informed that my family had been 
invited to join your little excursion to the Ridgeby 
Caves. Notwithstanding that they had declined, I 
determined, for my part, that I would not forego the 
very great pleasure of joining your party ; for I had 
no doubt that I should have been included in the 
invitation had I been at home ! ” 

“Most certainly, sir,” said Ardis. “I am sorry you 
are too late, for we have returned from the caves. 
But will you not walk in and take a seat? ” 

“Thanks,” said he. And laying his soft hat upon a 
table, he gracefully brought forward a chair, and 
placed it as close to Ardis as the positions of Norma 
and Dr. Lester would permit. 

Miss Airpenny fixed upon the new-comer a steady 
gaze, and Surrey, who was lying on a sofa in the back 
part of the room, never took his eyes from him. If 
any members of the party thought of addressing the 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


new-comer, he gave them no opportunity, but went 
on speaking with an air of kindly graciousness which 
was intended to put every one at ease. 

“So ! ” he said, as he seated himself. “I am aware 
that I am too late, but the pleasure of accompanying 
you and your party on your return will amply com- 
pensate me for the difficulties I have encountered. 
Difficulties indeed they were ! I was obliged to 
come in a buggy with a negro driver, for I am not 
acquainted with the roads ; and rougher roads I am 
sure were never known in Christendom. In one place 
the little river had chosen to flow along the highway, 
and had left its bed of rounded bowlders for the use of 
passing vehicles. Dreadfully jolting, I assure you, 
Miss Claverden. And this afternoon as we were going 
up the steep road a man came galloping down as if all 
the fiends of earth and air were after him. If it had 
not been for his horse’s eyes— for I am sure he did not 
use his own— he must have collided with us. Do 
people hereabout generally ride in that fashion, Miss 
Claverden?” 

“Not generally,” said Ardis ; and she fixed her 
eyes upon the fire, on which a colored boy had placed 
an armful of dried sticks. 

The spirit of hospitality now moved Dr. Lester to 
speak. “Have you had your supper, sir ? ” he said. 

Mr. Dalrymple turned his eyes toward him for a 
moment. “Not yet, thanks,” he said. “But I feel in 
no present need of refreshment. Later I will speak to 
the people of the inn.” 

“If you make it much later,” thought Norma, “the 
kitchen fire will be out and the servants in bed.” But 
she said nothing ; and the young man went on with his 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


monologue, describing the further difficulties of the 
road as if every one present were totally ignorant of 
them. 

This was the young man for whose sake Mrs. Dal- 
rymple had withdrawn from the excursion party, not 
wishing to expose her only son to the blandishments 
of that forward young woman, Miss Ardis Claverden. 
But the young man, having heard from his father and 
his sister of the remarkable personal attractions of 
Miss Claverden, and disapproving entirely of his 
mother’s action, and probably suspecting her reason, 
had taken matters into his own hand, and had set 
off by himself. Had he earlier comprehended the 
state of affairs he would have reached the caves as soon 
as the others. 

The arrival of this young man was a positive relief 
to Ardis. She had taken but little part in the general 
conversation, her mind being so much occupied with 
what had happened to her that she could not bring 
her thoughts to bear upon what had happened to Mr. 
Surrey. With Egbert Dairy mple addressing the com- 
pany, her abstracted manner was not noticed, for the 
attention of every one was given to the new-comer. 

A negro boy now came in with a tray on which was 
some supper for the gentleman who had come late. 
When the tray was presented to him, Mr. Dalrymple 
turned severely on the boy. 

“Take it away ! ” he said. “When I need anything 
I will call for it.” And then, as if in apology, he 
added, looking toward Ardis, “Rural simplicity fre- 
quently deserves to be termed clownish stupidity ! ” 

Miss Airpenny had now sat quiet as long as it was 
possible for her, and suddenly rising to her feet, she 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


said : “You would better eat your food when you can 
get it, young man, and if it is the presence of the 
ladies that hinders you, you needn’t stop for that, for 
we are going to bed.” 

“So?” cried Mr. Dalrymple, springing to his feet. 
“The evening has scarce begun.” 

“It is ended for us,” said Miss Airpenny. And 
Ardis and Norma being very willing to go, the three 
ladies bade the company good night, Miss Airpenny 
stopping by Surrey’s couch to inquire into her patient’s 
condition, and to impress upon him the fact that if his 
wound needed attention in the night he must not hesi- 
tate to call upon her. 

Mr. Dalrymple stood moodily for a few moments 
without regarding the other gentlemen, who were talk- 
ing together, and then, with an air of brusque indiffer- 
ence, ate the supper, which had been left on a table. 
When he had finished he found that the gentlemen 
had lighted their pipes, and even the recumbent Sur- 
rey was puffing a cigarette. 

“Will you smoke, sir?” asked Dr. Lester. “I have 
another pipe.” 

Egbert Dalrymple walked to the end of the mantel- 
piece, and leaning against it, folded his arms and re- 
garded the speaker. “Smoke ! ” said he. “What for ? ” 

The idea of any person asking a question like this 
struck Prouter and Cruppledean as being so ludicrous 
that they burst out laughing, and even the polite Dr. 
Lester could not restrain a smile. The countenance of 
Surrey, however, did not move. He still regarded this 
young man with severe attention. 

With an expression of compassionate scorn Mr. Dal- 
rymple looked at the ceiling ; then, his arms still folded 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


and his eyes cast on the floor, he walked with deliberate 
steps from the room. 

Tom Prouter threw himself back in his chair, slapped 
his knees, and danced his feet. “Oh, the ass ! the ass ! ” 
he cried, “the head ass of the world !” And he and 
Cruppledean laughed so much that their pipes went 
out. 

Surrey did not laugh. He had noticed how this 
remarkably handsome young man had kept his eyes 
fixed upon Ardis and had addressed no one but her. 

Egbert Dalrymple walked out on the little porch of 
the inn and seated himself on the railing, one leg 
thrown carelessly up before him and his back grace- 
fully inclined against a post. Raising his eyes toward 
the moon, which now had risen high among the floating 
white clouds, he soliloquized. 

“Enrapturing ! ” he said in a gentle whisper. “Far 
more enrapturing than I could have dreamed ! What 
Cecilia told me was not half ! Hear me, pretty moon ! 
I give myself to her ! As you fill with tender light 
the downy edges of those white clouds, so shall she 
illumine my every thought, my every emotion, my 
every impulse. As the waters follow you, so follow I 
her. I raise myself up toward her. I reach out to 
her. What happens I care not. The fair world 
may be flooded ; men may die ; women may weep ; 
still reach I up to her. What matters it if I leave 
bare shores that would have smiled to me— if fame, if 
fortune, if high aims, are all forgotten, left dry and 
arid, while I lift myself to her? And if I lift myself 
in fervid ardor the night will pass, the dawn will come, 
and she will slowly sink, sink, sink toward—” 

At this moment he heard a little shuffle as of feet 


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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


beside him, and turning quickly bis moon-irradiated 
face, be saw a small colored boy witb sleepy upturned 
visage. 

“Mister,” said tbe boy, “dey’s all done gone to bed 
but you, an’ be says when you comes in you mus’ put 
out dat ker’sene lamp on de table.” 

Egbert Dalrymple let bimself down on tbe floor of 
tbe porcb witb a sudden shock. “Damn tbe kerosene 
lamp ! ” be said, as be marched into tbe bouse. 

Before sunrise tbe next day Purley, witb several 
armed companions, began tbe work of thoroughly 
scouring tbe caves. It was many hours before they 
came out, but when be again breathed tbe outer air 
Purley bad made up bis mind. He believed that Mr. 
Surrey bad bad a fight witb a gigantic stalactite. He 
bad run against tbe thing, and supposing it bad struck 
him, bad turned upon it, bad dropped bis candle, and 
seizing it witb desperate fury bad broken it off, and 
tbe stone and tbe man bad rolled together on tbe floor. 
That Mr. Surrey bad described bis assailant as cold 
and slippery was a strong proof in favor of this sup- 
position. And in accounting for tbe mental condition 
which would allow a man to fight a stalactite Purley 
found no difficulty : any person of mature age who 
would deliberately leave bis party in those caves and 
go wandering about by bimself at tbe risk of dropping 
down into some bottomless pit was crack-brained 
enough to imagine anything ! If this affair should 
come to be generally known Purley determined that 
bis version of tbe matter should also be known, and 
be did not doubt that reasonable people would consider 
bis version tbe true one. 

That morning, without waiting for Purley’s report, 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


the Bald Hill party returned home. Mr. Surrey felt 
much stronger, and he and Norma had the carriage 
all to themselves, Miss Airpenny riding by its side 
whenever the width of the road allowed. It was not 
a very jolly party, but there was one happy heart in 
it. That was the heart of Dr. Lester, for during the 
whole journey Ardis rode by his side. 

Egbert Dalrymple would have kept close to Miss 
Claverden, had it been possible to do so in a buggy 
with a negro man driving. As it was, he was obliged 
to keep in the rear of the little procession— and a good 
deal in the rear, too, when the road was dusty. But 
ever he kept his eyes upon that fair one whom, like 
the tide, he followed. Prouter and Cruppledean had 
ridden on an hour or two before, the former being 
anxious to know how his milk route had prospered in 
his absence. Thus young Dalrymple had been pre- 
vented from making an intended proposition to one 
of them to change places with him, so that with a steed 
beneath him he might ride by the side of Ardis. 

Toward noon the party stopped near a spring which 
ran from the rocks not far from the roadside, and Dr. 
Lester having dismounted and gone to fill a drinking- 
cup with water, Egbert Dalrymple sprang to the 
ground and made his way with sprightly step to Ardis. 

“Do you not think, Miss Claverden/’ he said, “that 
your uncle would be glad to lend me his horse for an 
hour or two and take my seat in the buggy ? I doubt 
not it would rest him.” 

“My uncle ! ” exclaimed Ardis. “Oh, you mean Dr. 
Lester ! ” And then, although she was not in a laugh- 
ing mood, she laughed so heartily that Surrey, with 
whom Miss Airpenny was talking, looked out of the 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


carriage window. “The doctor is not my uncle / 7 she 
said, “and I am quite sure he will not care to make 
the change. He dislikes being driven in a buggy, and 
never tires in the saddle . 77 

The doctor now came up with the water, and Dal- 
rymple, first casting his eyes up toward the sky and 
then fixing them on the ground before him, strode 
with measured pace back to his vehicle. 


152 


CHAPTER XIII 


On the morning after his return from the Ridgeby 
Caves, Dr. Lester sat by the bedside of an invalid. 
He was not there in the capacity of a physician, but 
as a nurse, a counsellor, a companion, a messenger, or 
in any capacity of general utility. 

“I believe you, Bonnet,” said the doctor, “in what 
you say about the value of a wife’s hand when employed 
in rubbing in an embrocation. And does that shoulder 
feel any better now f ” 

“Indeed it does,” said Bonetti, “and if it didn’t I 
couldn’t talk. At first it pained me so that I could 
scarcely whisper, and that’s what I call a pretty bad 
hurt.” 

“You are right,” said the doctor. “And you seem 
to have been extensively damaged otherwise.” 

“I should say so ! ” replied the other. “Head nearly 
broken, bruises all over me, and I didn’t count the cuts 
and scratches. How I got myself out of the caves I 
really can’t see ! ” 

“What I cannot see,” said the doctor, “is how you 
got into the caves or out of them, or why you under- 
took such a mad piece of business.” 

“The first part,” said Bonetti, a little quiet light of 
satisfaction coming into his eyes, “was easy enough. 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


There is a passage into the Ridgeby Caves that I know 
and nobody else does. It takes a pretty spry man to 
get in or out of it, and if ever I show it to anybody 
HI show it to you, Dr. Lester .’ 7 

“I don’t want to see it,” said the doctor, earnestly. 
“I positively decline to know anything about it.” 

“All right,” said the other. “I went in that way 
and I came out that way. I went in because I hoped 
I’d get a chance to give that man a good thrashing, 
because he insulted me straight up and down, the 
worst way ; and that’s the sort of thing I don’t take 
from any man ! ” 

“But, Bonnet,” said the doctor, “it is quite plain 
that you did take the insult, and a good beating be- 
sides. But no matter what your reasons were, your 
conduct is totally inexcusable.” 

“I don’t look on it in that light,” said Bonetti. 
“I wanted to give him a quick thrash, and I didn’t 
want to injure my reputation, either. I have got a 
wife and daughters, and I owe something to them. 
People think of me as a peaceable man, and I want 
’em to keep on thinkin’ so. When I heard he was 
goin’ into the caves I thought that was my chance and 
I took it. I had matches and candles in my pocket, 
and I wore a rubber overcoat and boots. I can wait 
in the dark and the wet as long as any man, and I know 
the caves as well as Purley does. I didn’t do much at 
follerin’ ’em till they were cornin’ back, because it’s 
when people are cornin’ back that they straggle. I 
had a notion that man would try to go prowlin’ round 
by himself, but I didn’t think he’d give me such a 
good chance as he did. I couldn’t have asked for any- 
thing better ! ” 


154 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“ Except that the man you attacked should not have 
been so stout/’ said the doctor. “It was a low-down 
trick to do such a thing in the dark, Bonnet.” 

“I don’t agree with you, doctor,” said Bonetti. 
“You are always forgettin’ my wife and daughters. 
But he was a tough fellow, most certain, and gave it 
to me hot and heavy. But I gave him as good as I 
got, and my mind feels easier, though my body don’t.” 

“It has been all wrong, Bonnet, in every possible 
way,” said the doctor. “I won’t say any more about 
jumping on a man in the dark, but you have done 
wrong to me by telling me all this. Here I am to 
meet a gentleman who has been most mysteriously 
assaulted ; I hear Major Claverden raging about the 
unparalleled injury done to a man who is a guest be- 
neath his roof ; for days I shall listen to all sorts of 
plans for discovering and capturing the person who did 
this deed, and I must hold my tongue or send you to 
jail, Bonnet.” 

“I don’t see that I’ve done you any wrong, doctor,” 
said Bonetti. “It just happened that you came, you 
know. You were passin’ by here and you stopped in. 
You’ve often done that before, and it’s not my fault 
that you did it now. You heard I was sick in bed 
and you came up to see me. Was that my fault? 
And when you got here you asked me what was the 
matter, and do you suppose I was goin’ to tell you a 
lie? You wouldn’t like me to lie to you, would you, 
doctor?” 

“No,” replied the other, “I should not like it.” 

“Well, then,” said Bonetti, “the whole thing just 
happened and it’s nobody’s fault.” 

The doctor made no reply, but his face showed that 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


he deeply felt the unpleasant position in which he had 
been placed by his brother philosophizer. 

“ There is one thing,” resumed Bonetti, “that is 
bad. There’s no gettin’ around it j it’s very bad ! I 
suppose that man would have been goin’ away in a 
day or two, judgin’ by the time such people generally 
stay at gentlemen’s houses. But now there’s no 
knowin’ when he’ll go. Major Claverden won’t let 
him go until he is clean well. And, what’s more, he’ll 
not want to be well as long as he has got Miss Ardis 
to take care of him. And she’ll take care of him, be- 
cause she’s a woman. I know women. When any- 
body is sick they haven’t got no backbone at all. 
They just go in and do everything they know how.” 

“Well?” said the doctor, now listening with great 
interest. 

“It is all as plain as daylight,” said Bonetti. “He’ll 
make the most of his time, and as like as not he’ll get 
her.” 

“I don’t believe it ! ” said the doctor, warmly. 

“Of course,” said Bonetti, “if there was any one else 
around it would be different, but he will have her all 
to himself. If Roger Hun worth was at home I’d feel 
easier about it. He wouldn’t stand by and let Surrey 
walk over the course. Hunworth is the man that 
wants her and ought to have her. Don’t you say so, 
doctor?” 

Dr. Lester pushed back his chair a little and looked 
out of the window. “Yes,” he said. 

“But he isn’t here,” continued Bonetti. “My wife 
tells me that he passed by here yesterday mornin’ in 
his buggy, goin’ to town with his yaller boy Jim. And 
when Jim came back without him she stopped him, 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


and he told her Mr. Roger had gone off on the train, he 
didn’t know where. So yon see, doctor, it’s a pretty 
bad case.” 

“I cannot believe in the danger you speak of,” said 
the doctor, “but I shall be truly sorry if Surrey is 
obliged to remain at Bald Hill.” 

“ Indeed you will be sorry!” said Bonetti, “and 
there is only one thing to be done, and that is for you 
to go in.” 

“I go in ! ” exclaimed the doctor. “What do you 
mean ? ” 

“I mean,” said Bonetti, “for you to pitch right in 
and cut Surrey out, just as Dunworth would do if he 
was here. I know it seems a little off color, but it 
can’t be helped. Any port in a storm. If you would 
forget all them resolutions of yours and go in strong, 
it wouldn’t do her any hurt and it might drive that 
man off, or hinder him, anyway.” 

“Oh, Bonnet, Bonnet ! ” exclaimed Dr. Lester, “what 
are you talking about? It would never do for me to 
undertake that sort of thing. How could I stop myself 
if I made a start like that? ” 

“I don’t want you to stop yourself,” said Bonetti. 
“There is a chance that Surrey may get her, and 
that is all you or I should think of. You may not 
have to stick it out very long, and when Surrey clears 
out, if you find you’ve got in a little too deep, you can 
clear out, too. Y ou might travel for a while. There’s 
lots of things you might do.” 

“Bonnet,” cried the doctor, rising to his feet, “is 
your blood as cold and earthy as the drops that turn 
into stone in Ridgeby Caves? Can you lie there 
and calmly talk to me about doing a thing like that? 

157 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

The very thought of it is enough to drive a man 
mad ! 77 

“ There’s no use in gettin 7 excited, doctor , 77 said 
Bonetti. “There’s sacrifices to be made in this world, 
and the best thing we can do is to step out prompt 
and make ’em . 77 

“Bonnet , 77 said the doctor, taking up his hat and 
turning toward the door, “never propose such a plan 
to me again ! 77 

“Doctor , 77 said Bonetti, “please wait one moment. 
Suppose you had a bad pain in your leg from a bruise, 
and there was a bowl on the table with whiskey and 
salt in it, and close by it there was a bottle of arnica, 
if you was goin 7 to do your own rubbin 7 which would 
you choose f 77 

“Bonnet , 77 said the doctor, a little severely, “you 
know I never prescribe $ you must do your own choos- 
ing. Good day . 77 

“Well , 77 said Bonetti to himself, as he turned uneasily 
on his other side, “I am safe with him, for he’ll never 
go back on a friend . 77 


158 


CHAPTER XIV 


If Dr. Lester had followed Bonetti’s advice he would 
have greatly gratified Ardis, and she would not have 
suspected the feelings that lay beneath his attentions. 
The true character of the doctor’s sentiments would 
never have occurred to Ardis, and she would have been 
most grateful to this old friend if his presence had in 
any way acted as a barrier between her and Surrey. 

It appeared as though Surrey were likely to remain 
at Bald Hill for some time, and since he had taken that 
unfair and unmanly advantage of her kindly solicitude, 
she had spoken to him only in the most casual way j 
she was fully determined that he should have no op- 
portunity to repeat his offence nor even to allude 
to it. 

Norma had declared that it was absolutely necessary 
for her to return to Heatherley. To remain at Bald 
Hill with Norma away and Surrey there was not to be 
thought of, and Ardis decided to go home with her 
friend. 

When this decision was communicated to her father 
on the evening of the day after the return from the 
caves, the mind of Maj or Claverden was troubled. The 
project did not at all accord with his ideas of hospi- 
tality. For the lady of the house to thus absent 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


herself during the visit of an invited guest was an 
impropriety at any time, and particularly so in the 
present case. But Ardis was steadfast. It grieved 
her to run counter to her father’s deep-set ideas of 
courtesy and hospitality, and had Norma or Dr. Lester 
been there to intervene between her and Mr. Surrey 
she would have remained at home for the major’s sake. 
She would not tell her father what had happened, for 
she knew it would cause in him a dire conflict between 
anger and his notions of hospitality toward an injured 
man. Major Claverden, as was his habit, soon ceased 
his opposition to his daughter’s desire. 

“ Every attention that your patient needs,” she said, 
“can be given to him better under your direction than 
under mine, and I think it likely that I shall return 
very soon.” 

In saying this Ardis spoke the truth, for she be- 
lieved that as Surrey must understand why she had 
gone away he would soon depart. It would not take 
long for a healthy man such as he was to regain his 
ordinary strength. 

There was another motive which prompted Ardis to 
go away. There was within her a desire, one which 
she did not acknowledge to herself, but which existed 
in considerable force, to make Roger Dunworth aware 
that the impression he had received regarding herself 
and Surrey was an erroneous one. To do this the first 
step necessary was to separate herself from Surrey. 

The next morning at breakfast, when Major Claver- 
den informed his guest that his daughter and Miss 
Cranton had gone to the home of the latter an hour 
before, his courteous disposition prompted him to make 
sundry excuses for this abrupt departure. To these, 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


however, his guest paid little attention. He said no- 
thing except a few words of regret at the absence of 
the ladies, but he thought a good deal. It was quite 
plain to him why Ardis had gone away, and his 
thoughts principally regarded his own action. What 
ought he to do now? 

After breakfast, when he had an hour or two to 
himself, he gave this subject a great deal of considera- 
tion. He decided upon but one thing, and that was 
to stay at Bald Hill as long as he could. Major Claver- 
den had asserted that he would not allow him to leave 
his house until he had recovered from the effect of his 
wound. The period of entire recovery could of course 
be postponed or hastened, according to circumstances j 
and Surrey would wait and see if fate would yet give 
him an opportunity to set himself right with Ardis. 
If he should have this opportunity, he did not at all 
despair of success. He knew well that he had angered 
her, but before this he had made his peace with an- 
gered women, and he considered himself peculiarly 
proficient in this sort of pacification. Indeed, he be- 
lieved that he showed to better advantage in the eyes 
of a woman conciliated than in those of one with whom 
that process had not been necessary. He had made a 
mistake with Ardis, but that mistake could easily be 
explained. When a man’s love is so powerful as to 
run away with him, that fact ought to be used with 
much effect in an amorous argument. 

At all events, Surrey was firm in his determination 
not to leave the neighborhood until there was no fur- 
ther hope of an interview with Ardis. It might be 
that she would be obliged to return in a few days, but 
if he should see that it would be useless to expect her 
161 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


to return while he was at Bald Hill, it would be quite 
within the bounds of politeness for him to ride over to 
Heatherley and take leave of Ardis and Miss Cranton. 
Should he do this he doubted not that he would get, or 
make, an opportunity to speak with Ardis. He did not 
flatter himself that his task would be an easy one j he 
knew it would be hard. He had seen Dunworth sit- 
ting stone -like on his horse, and he had looked upon 
the pale face of Ardis as she had sprung to her feet, 
and he knew that he had a rival. He also perceived 
that he was going to have another rival in the person 
of the young man who had joined them at Purley’s 
Tavern. But these facts did not affect his courage nor 
his purpose. He was a brave man, and believing 
himself, in matters of love, as deserving as any other 
man, he had never hesitated, when occasion required, 
to make strong effort to prove this conviction correct. 

Now that his daughter had gone, Major Claverden 
exerted himself in every way to promote the comfort 
and pleasure of his guest. Not only had he a deep 
sympathy for Mr. Surrey’s misfortune, but he greatly 
desired that he should not consider himself deserted or 
de trop. More than this, the major really liked Surrey, 
and was glad to have him for a companion. He did 
not for a moment look upon him in the light of a suitor 
for his daughter’s hand, and if he had so looked he 
would not have considered him as one she would allow 
to urge his suit. Surrey was a congenial companion 
at table, a good story-teller, well informed on many 
points, and, above all, he was one of the very few 
persons who took an intelligent interest in the wine of 
Bald Hill. Surrey devoted himself earnestly to a 
study of the culture of the vine and the properties of 
162 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


the grape, and particularly to those especial vines and 
grapes on which Major Claverden founded his hopes. 
Sometimes he could not help laughing a little to him- 
self that he should be engaged in researches so utterly 
foreign to the ordinary occupations of his mind ; but 
when he had an object before him he was accustomed 
to work with energy to accomplish it. He knew it 
would be greatly to his advantage to win the favor of 
the major, but, more than this, he had a genuine de- 
sire to become proficient in pursuits which, if the 
matrimonial project succeeded, might become his own. 
He believed it would suit him very well to become a 
country gentleman, at least for a part of the year, and 
if the estate of Bald Hill should ever come under his 
management he wished to know how to manage it to 
advantage. That his chances of succeeding to such 
management appeared to him slighter than they had 
a few days before, had no effect upon his purpose. If 
he had any chance whatever of success, he would do 
what he could to prepare himself to take full advan- 
tage of that success— should it come. 

Surrey had given much consideration to the major’s 
experiments, and, considering the experience of the 
experimenter, the favorable conditions, and the good 
progress that had apparently been made, he could see 
no good reason why the wine of Bald Hill should not 
become the Johannisberger of America and yield a 
fortune to the men who controlled the vineyards. So 
at all hours Jack Surrey talked “grape ” with his host, 
making suggestions which were not without value, and 
listening attentively to theories and details of practice, 
thus making himself such an agreeable companion to 
Major Claverden that the latter frequently declared 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


it was eminently proper that he should remain at Bald 
Hill and write the article for which the notes and 
sketches had there been made. 

On the day of her arrival at Heatherley, Ardis 
wrote a note to Roger Hunworth. She greatly dis- 
liked to do this, but anything was better than to allow 
him to remain under the mistaken impression which 
she knew had been made upon him. After what she 
had said to him concerning her intentions to allow no 
man to make love to her, she could not endure the 
thought that he should have cause to believe that she 
was not only permitting attentions from Mr. Surrey, 
but reciprocating them. Her regard for her own in- 
tegrity, and her desire for its full recognition, would 
not allow her to rest until she had written to Hun- 
worth to ask him to come to see her at Heatherley on 
a subject of importance. When he came she would 
quickly make him understand the true state of the 
case, and then all she had previously said to him 
would have the same force and purport it had had 
when she had said it. 

But her messenger returned with the news that Mr. 
Hunworth had left his house two days before, and that 
his destination was not known. It was supposed, 
however, that he would soon return. With much dis- 
appointment, therefore, Ardis put her note in her 
portfolio, to be sent again as soon as she should hear 
that Mr. Hunworth had come back. 

But a week passed and he did not come back ; and 
great was the talk of the neighborhood concerning 
this fact. He had made known his intentions to no 
one ; he had left no directions behind him ; he had not 
written ; and the boy who had driven him to Bolton 
164 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


did not know whether he had taken a northern-bound 
train or one going south. The ticket agent at the 
station recollected having sold him a ticket, but there 
was a train up and one down at nearly the same hour, 
and he could not remember for which one Mr. Dun- 
worth had taken his ticket. 

Messrs. Parehester, Skitt, and Cruppledean were 
now left in charge of affairs at the Dunworth farm, 
and they managed them to the best of their ability $ 
but there were things they did not understand, and 
in cases of doubt or ignorance they naturally con- 
sulted with their compatriots, the Quantrills. Miss 
Airpenny, who seemed to have given up all thoughts 
of present travel, was much concerned at the condition 
of the Dunworth household. She had bought her 
riding-horse of Roger Dunworth, and, strange to say, 
this transaction had caused her to like him. She 
listened with much attention to what the three agri- 
cultural pupils had to say, and then she spoke : 

“What that place wants / 7 she said, “is a head ; and 
as I have one which is out of employment at present, 
I shall take it there. Whether the man comes back 
to-morrow or stays away a fortnight longer, it is a 
Christian duty to see that he does not suffer for it. 
That he should go away when he feels like it and stay 
away as long as he chooses shows that some of the 
English blood of his ancestors is left in him, and I 
shall stand by English blood wherever I find it ! 77 

“What are you going to do ? 77 asked Mr. Quantrill. 
“Are you going to teach those boys American farm- 
ing 1 ? 77 

“I don’t propose to teach them anything , 77 said 
Miss Airpenny, “but I shall see to it that they do 
165 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


what they have been taught. And I shall teach some- 
body— I don’t know who yet— how to keep a house in 
order so that it shall be fit for the master to come back 
to, or be brought back to, if so be it that is the case. 
Now, will you be good enough to have my horse sad- 
dled?” 

Parchester, Skitt, and Cruppledean were not entirely 
pleased with Miss Airpenny’s assumption of the vacant 
throne, but they knew that when she had made up her 
mind to do what she deemed a good action, and which 
at the same time accorded with her inclinations, it 
would be a waste of energy to endeavor to oppose her ; 
and, therefore, the four rode back together to the 
Dunworth farm. 

Roger Dunworth had a widowed sister who lived in 
Kentucky, and, as it was known that he frequently 
assisted her in the management of her affairs, it was 
supposed by many persons that he had suddenly been 
called away on her account. But, as is usual in such 
cases, most people talked and surmised, while one 
person acted. That person was Miss Airpenny. 

“If I understood housekeeping in the American 
fashion,” she said to the Dunworth house-servants, “I 
should have you do your work in that way, and should 
see that you did it properly. But I don’t understand 
it, and therefore shall do my housekeeping in the way 
I do understand. I want you to know that we must 
now have tea and buttered toast for breakfast, and no 
kind of hot bread or coffee. And you are not all to 
go to bed at nine o’clock, for about that time we shall 
have supper.” 

Aunt Lucy in the kitchen lifted up her hands and 
eyes in solemn sadness when Miss Airpenny had gone 
166 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


from her. “I’s alius prayed to live long,” she said, 
“an’, so far, my pra’rs has been answered. But I 
never reckined to live long ’nuf to git breakfus’ with- 
out hot bread. If Mr. Roger don’ come back soon I 
reckin it’s about time to stop de pra’rs an’ git ready 
fer de udder shohr.” 

But as Mr. Roger might come home any day, the 
prayers were not stopped, and the new kind of break- 
fast was prepared every morning and enjoyed. 

Major Claverden thought a great deal and talked a 
great deal about Dunworth’s absence. He talked at 
home, and he rode over to the Dunworth place and 
talked to Miss Airpenny. 

“ There is every reason to suppose,” said he to the 
latter, “that my young friend is with his sister. But 
why he does not write I cannot imagine ! ” 

“Now, really, sir,” exclaimed Miss Airpenny, “don’t 
you think this business of trying to imagine why 
people don’t do this thing or that is very tiresome 1 ? 
It is not only that, but it is dangerous. It is like 
twirling one’s self about with a gun in one’s hand and 
firing at random, hoping to hit a bird. There is about 
a chance in a million that one may hit a bird, but one 
is much more likely to kill a neighbor’s child.” 

The major smiled. “I have no desire, madam, to 
commit murder with my suppositions.” 

“Of course not,” said Miss Airpenny, “but wild im- 
aginings may do almost as much harm as wild shots.” 

“Your sentiments are highly commendable, madam,” 
said the major, “and I will restrict my suppositions 
to what you may consider a blank cartridge. I will 
take it for granted that, intending every day to return, 
Mr. Dunworth does not think it worth while to write.” 


167 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Miss Airpenny agreed that this sort of shot would 
not hurt anybody. And after making a hearty offer 
of his services or his advice, should either be needed, 
Major Claverden took his leave. 

Jack Surrey did not believe that Dunworth had 
been called from home by family affairs. The man on 
the horse who had dashed away from Ridgeby Caves 
was not absent because he wanted to see his sister. 
“What I must do,” thought Surrey, “is to have my 
say with Ardis Claverden before that fellow comes 
back ! ” 

There were not many visitors now at Bald Hill, but 
Egbert Dalrymple, very correctly attired in riding- 
costume, ambled up to the door on the afternoon of 
the day on which Ardis had departed 5 but on being 
informed that the young lady had gone away on a 
visit to Heatherley, he slightly frowned, cast his eyes 
upon the ground, and rode away. 

Jack Surrey looked after him. “There is no danger 
in that fellow,” he said to himself. “There is not 
enough of the staying quality in him. But if I really 
thought that such an ass had any chance of first reach- 
ing the winning-post, I should be ashamed to be in the 
race I ” 


168 


CHAPTER XY 


Like Mr. Surrey, Ardis knew very well that Roger 
Dunworth had not gone to see his sister. That he had 
gone at all troubled her much. And yet she did not 
blame herself for anything she had said or done. 
Under similar circumstances she would again say to 
him the same things. That which grieved and troubled 
her had been an accident, and a most unfortunate one. 
Had not Mr. Dunworth appeared at the only time 
when he could have received that false and shocking 
impression, there would have been nothing to regret, 
except, indeed, Mr. Surrey’s impropriety. 

She now believed Roger had come to the Ridgeby 
Caves because he was in a better state of mind than 
when she had last seen him, and had determined to 
put himself on his old footing and to be the good 
friend and companion of former days. That this 
purpose had been thwarted in the most unfortunate 
way agitated the soul of Ardis as it never had been 
agitated before. She now desired nothing so much as 
the opportunity of explaining everything to Roger 
Dunworth. 

There was a certain sensation, heretofore very un- 
usual with Ardis, which at this time frequently 
possessed her ; and this was the sensation of fear. It 
169 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


was a nervous dread that Roger Dun worth would again 
make his appearance when she and Surrey were to- 
gether. She was very sure the latter would not omit 
the courteous performance of coming to Heatherley 
to take leave of her when about to end his visit to 
Bald Hill. This event might take place at any time, 
and under its cover she knew he would have some- 
thing to say. She also would have something to say 
which should be very brief and decisive. But the 
presentiment never left her that at the moment of this 
conference, short as it might be, there would appear 
before her the pained and pallid face of Roger. This 
feeling was so strong that she sometimes found herself 
looking out of an upper window, this way and that, to 
see if some one were coming. Should the some one be 
Roger Dunworth she would hasten to meet him ; and, 
after that, the sooner Surrey came the better, in order 
that he might know what she had to tell him and 
depart. 

But her agitation and her nervous fear were known 
only to herself. She would not have it supposed that 
she had anything to do with the absence of Roger 
Dunworth, or that it occasioned in her anything more 
than the natural anxiety which it gave to all his friends 
and neighbors. The Cranton family found her a most 
lively and agreeable visitor. 

But it was not only the Heatherley people who found 
her agreeable. On the third day after her arrival 
there Mr. Egbert Dalrymple appeared, this time driv- 
ing himself in a buggy, and in an attire suited to the 
season of early autumn. The brownish-green hue of 
his harmonious garments was not relieved by a single 
touch of color. 


170 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Ardis was glad to see him. It is true she knew him 
bat slightly, and when they had talked of him, she and 
Norma had laughed at him ; but she was very well 
satisfied that he should come at this time. The Cran- 
ton family was a busy one, and unless she followed its 
members about, a proceeding not always desirable to 
them or to herself, she was frequently left alone. It 
was at these periods she most feared the arrival of 
Surrey, and that in one of them Mr. Dalrymple should 
come instead was a relief. Therefore it was that she 
held out her hand with a bright smile to Mr. Dal- 
rymple. 

This young man was not given to concealing his 
sentiments. Whatever his mood, he made it apparent j 
if it suited him to put his thoughts into words, it 
mattered little to him whether or not other people 
cared to hear those words. He soon made it plain to 
Ardis that he had come there expressly to see her, 
that it gave him great pleasure to see her, and that 
he did not want to see anybody else. These sentiments, 
enunciated with a tasteful force peculiar to Mr. Dal- 
rymple, amused her and did not displease her. 

When he had been with her from five to seven 
minutes, Mr. Dalrymple, still seated, threw himself 
into an attitude of respectful importunity. 

“Miss Claverden,” said he, “will you not drive with 
me ? I came in a buggy for this. The day is all that 
could be desired.” And he rose to his feet as if the 
matter were settled. 

His assured manner made Ardis laugh. “If you 
had brought a larger vehicle,” she said, “so that Miss 
Cranton, who is my friend and hostess, could go with 
us, your invitation might have been considered.” 

171 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Mr. Dalrymple folded his arms and gazed over them 
to the floor. “Miss Cranton ? 77 he said. “So ! 77 Then, 
suddenly turning toward Ardis, “I cannot compre- 
hend / 7 he said, “this craving for other people. I 
abhor other people ! They are always in the way ! 
One cannot establish a harmony if other people are 
tolerated. Do yon follow me, Miss Claverden ? 77 

“Oh, yes / 7 replied Ardis. “And may I ask, Mr. 
Dalrymple, if you are a proficient in the art of estab- 
lishing harmonies ? 77 

“Proficient ! 77 exclaimed the young gentleman. “I 
would I were ! 77 And his face grew sombre. Then 
suddenly his expression changed to one of thoughtful 
determination, lightened by a touch of hopeful belief. 
He placed a chair in front of Ardis, and sat down, one 
foot advanced, the other drawn well back, his body 
slightly inclined forward, and his right hand in the 
breast of his partly buttoned coat. “Miss Claverden / 7 
he said, “harmonies depend upon sympathies $ and 
perfect sympathies— how rare ! There are millions of 
stars in the sky at night, but have you ever tried to 
find two which are verily alike? There are such. 
We know it. But the task of discovering them is 
arduous indeed ! 77 

“I never thought of that / 7 said Ardis, “but when I 
was a little girl I used to try to find two sassafras- 
leaves that were alike. You can 7 t imagine, Mr. Dal- 
rymple, how almost impossible it is to establish a 
harmony in a sassafras-tree . 77 

Mr. Dalrymple made no answer to this remark, but 
his face indicated the presence of a gentle pain, quickly 
followed by a generous resignation. He let his eyes 
move around the room ; they fell upon the piano. He 
172 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


arose, approached it, and picked np a piece of mu- 
sic. Then he dropped casually upon the stool and 
strummed a few notes. After a little he turned him- 
self about and, still seated on the stool, began to talk 
of Mendelssohn and Strauss. The conversation on 
musical subjects continued until Norma came in, and 
very shortly after this the visitor departed. 

The next day Mr. Egbert Dalrymple came again, 
this time bringing Ardis a bouquet composed of a few 
long-stemmed flowers harmoniously arranged. As he 
entered the parlor he noticed that Ardis was dressed 
in blue, and, therefore, drawing from his bouquet a 
spray of purple blossoms, the most beautiful of all, he 
threw it out of the window. Then, with a bow, he 
begged Miss Claverden to be seated and laid his offer- 
ing in her lap. 

Every morning this young gentleman came to 
Heatherley, and his coming created a great deal of 
amusement in the Cranton household. Ardis laughed 
as much as any of them,— no one would have connected 
nervous agitation or mental dread with her demeanor, 
—but she did not discourage the visits of the young 
man. 

It was in the mornings that she was most alone ; it 
was in the mornings that he came ; and it was in the 
mornings that she looked out for the approach of 
Dunworth or of Surrey. If the first had come, how 
quickly would Egbert Dalrymple have been shaken 
off ! If the latter, how closely would he have been 
detained ! 

It is true that Ardis frequently felt herself bored by 
the effort to establish harmonies, whether between 
flowers or stars or human souls ; but anything of this 
173 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


sort was better than the terrible discordance for 
which she was continually looking. In the matter of 
conversational intercourse she would have preferred 
visits from Dr. Lester, but she feared Dr. Lester was 
a man who would courteously retire before a Surrey. 
Egbert Dalrymple, she knew, would retire before no 
man so long as she allowed him to stay. And then, 
again, Dr. Lester did not come to Heatherley during 
Ardis’s stay. There was something strange in this, 
and it was talked about by the Crantons. Ardis was 
sorry that her old friend stayed away. Knowing his 
helpful disposition and his devotion to his friends, she 
conjectured that he did not accept the general inter- 
pretation of Roger Dunworth’s absence, and that he 
was looking deeper into the matter than any one else 
had done. Therefore she wished to see him, hoping 
to learn what he might have learned. 

But instead of Roger Dunworth or Mr. Surrey or 
Dr. Lester, every day came Egbert Dalrymple. And 
no bolder, franker, and more truly uncloaked suitor 
ever entered lists to fight for lady’s hand. Other men 
might adore in secret, plan and contrive, rack them- 
selves with jealousy, or sadly assign themselves to their 
fate. His business in life was to establish a harmony 
with Ardis Claverden, and to that he devoted himself. 


174 


CHAPTER XYI 


Akdis had now been ten days at Heatherley, and her 
mind began to be disturbed to such a degree that it 
was difficult to conceal the disturbance under her 
ordinary demeanor. Nothing had been heard from 
Roger Dunworth, and, so far as she knew, Mr. Surrey 
intended to spend the autumn at Bald Hill. She had 
received a note from her father in which he said he 
thought her visit to the Crantons had continued quite 
long enough, but he made no reference to the depar- 
ture of his guest. What she ought to do Ardis knew 
not. To stay away from home any longer would make 
the reason plain to everybody, .and that very unpleas- 
antly $ to acquaint her father with the real reason 
of her absence would make it necessary for him to 
inflict a wound upon his own hospitable heart ; and to 
go to Bald Hill while Surrey was there was impossible. 

Ardis knew that Norma understood why she stayed 
away from her home, but the Cranton family must 
soon begin to wonder at this protracted visit ; perhaps 
the neighbors were already talking about it, and even 
her father would begin to suspect there must be an 
unusual reason for her desertion of his house for that 
of a friend so easy to visit at any time. 

The feeling that something ought to be said or done 
175 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


weighed heavily upon Ardis, but what to say or do 
she could not decide. Mr. Dalrymple, too, was begin- 
ning to weigh upon her ; his eccentricities had ceased 
to interest her ; and one morning, before it was time to 
expect him, she set out for a gallop over the fields on 
her mare Janet, which had been brought over from 
Bald Hill. 

She rode through the apple orchard to the great 
farm-yard, crossed this, and at the other side ascended 
the sloping road which ran along the side of the up- 
lands which formed the principal part of the Heather- 
ley estate. Out upon the open fields, with a beautiful 
country stretching far around her, she touched her 
mare with the whip, and away they went. Reaching 
the top of a gentle eminence, which was the highest 
point in the field, Ardis reined up and turned about 
to survey the scene. It was an interesting country 
over which she gazed, and it was her own country. 
Every spot she saw, she knew. 

Far away stretched the blue line of the mountains ; 
forest and field gave various shades of green and brown 
and red to the undulating landscape ; the little river 
Tardiana wound through the scene, showing itself here 
and there. And in plain view on the road which 
ran by Heatherley appeared a horseman. 

Ardis smiled. “It is poor Mr. Dalrymple,” she said 
to herself. But instantly she changed her mind. The 
horseman was too far away for her to recognize him, 
but he was not coming from the direction of the Dal- 
rymple place. The mare was anxious to go on, but 
Ardis restrained her. She would wait to see whether 
or not the man turned into the gateway. 

He turned into the gateway, and as he did so Ardis 
176 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


recognized lier father’s sorrel riding-horse, and soon 
after she knew the rider to be Mr. Surrey. 

“Oho ! ” she said to herself. “He is coming to make 
a morning call at Heatherley ! ” A slight expression 
of scorn came upon the face of Ardis. “The farther 
away the better,” she said $ and turning Janet’s head, 
she rode down the other side of the slope. 

Ardis and the mare had a good hour of it, galloping 
over level pastures, fording little streams, leaping a 
rail fence now and then, but always keeping their 
heads turned away from Heatherley. At length they 
came into a field by which ran a public road, and on 
this road Ardis saw a woman jogging slowly on a stout 
brown horse. This rider, in an odd-looking green 
riding-habit, could have been recognized at any dis- 
tance as Miss Airpenny. 

Ardis rode rapidly down to the fence and put her 
mare straight at it. It was rather a high fence, but 
neither Janet nor her rider thought for a moment of 
shirking the leap. The animal gathered herself up, made 
a beautiful spring, and went over without touching. 

“Now, really ! ” exclaimed Miss Airpenny, not a 
hundred feet away. “Is that the way you ride, and 
all alone, too ? Don’t you fancy that something might 
happen to you, and nobody by?” 

Ardis laughed. “You nearly always ride alone, 
Miss Airpenny,” she said, “and yet I don’t believe 
you ever think of anything happening to you.” 

“I don’t clear fences,” said Miss Airpenny. “But 
something has happened to me ; and a very pleasant 
thing it is, too ! I have met a woman. You don’t 
know how I have been longing for the sight of another 
gown besides my own.” 


177 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Both riders had now stopped their horses. 

“ Don’t you find your present matronly position a 
congenial one ? ” asked Ardis. 

“Not a bit of it ! ” said the other. “If I did not con- 
sider it my duty to stay and take care of things I would 
leave the house this day. You can’t fancy what it is 
to live with three regular cubs, and an irregular cub 
in the shape of Tom Pr outer dropping in at any mo- 
ment ! Now, do you want to do a charitable deed? 
Come and take dinner with me. The cubs and I dine 
early, you know. Take pity on me and come.” 

Ardis hesitated. She liked Miss Airpenny ard 
would be glad to visit her. There was no reason why 
she should not go to the Dunworth place, since Roger 
was not there and Miss Airpenny was the hostess ; and 
as there was every reason to suppose that Mr. Surrey 
would protract his call as long as possible in order to 
see her, she did not wish to return to Heatherley at 
present. After a few moments’ reflection she accepted 
Miss Airpenny’s invitation, and the two rode on to- 
gether. 

“Have you heard anything from Mr. Dunworth?” 
asked Ardis. 

“Not a word,” said Miss Airpenny. “And you are 
the third person who has asked after him to-day. I 
am sure it is greatly to Mr. Dunworth’s credit that his 
neighbors take such an interest in him.” 

A half-hour’s ride brought the ladies to the house, 
and Parchester, Skitt, and Cruppledean were not dis- 
pleased when they learned who was to dine with them, 
and went up-stairs to put on their best coats ; while 
Tom Prouter, who had been there all the morning, 
was positively delighted, and thanked the happy star 
178 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


which had led him to come and make his inquiries 
about Dunworth on this particular day. It was a 
lively dinner-table, for Miss Airpenny, who had been 
tired of talking to nobody but men, now broke into 
cheerful chat, and Ardis was careful to allow no change 
to appear in her ordinary sprightly demeanor. The 
three pupils listened earnestly and laughed a good 
deal, but Prouter took his full share in the conversa- 
tion. The remarks in reference to Miss Claverden and 
himself which Cruppledean had once made to him 
had ceased to depress him. His boyish face glowed 
with unreasoning hopefulness. 

After dinner the sky began to darken and it was 
plain that a storm was coming, and when Ardis spoke 
of hastening back to Heatherley before the rain, Miss 
Airpenny took a look at the clouds and would not let 
her go. Fearing that Norma might be troubled at 
her absence, Ardis wrote a note to her, explaining the 
situation, and sent it to Heatherley by a negro boy 
who thought much more of an actual quarter-dollar 
than a possible drenching. In an hour the boy re- 
turned, having got his drenching in spite of the wild 
galloping of his mule, and brought an answer from 
Norma. It ran thus : 


‘ ‘ I am glad you are away, because Mr. Surrey is here. 
He came to bid you good-by— he says both of us, but I 
don’t believe it. He said he would wait until you re- 
turned, and he is waiting now. Can’t you stay with Miss 
Airpenny until I send you word he has gone away ? 
I told him you were visiting Miss Airpenny, and I am 
sure he thinks she is at the Quantrills’, and if he chooses 
to ride over there it is his own business.” 

179 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


In consequence of this note, of the fact that the 
storm had developed into a steady rain, and of Miss 
Airpenny’s most pressing invitation, Ardis determined 
to spend the night where she was. Never was neces- 
sary farm-work hurried through so rapidly as on that 
afternoon. When Miss Airpenny came into the parlor 
an hour before sunset, and saw the three farm pupils 
sitting there in their best clothes, she was surprised. 

“Have you seen that the milking has been done, 
and that the cattle and horses have been properly 
attended to I ” she asked. 

“All is arranged,” said Parchester, with much 
complacency j and he, with Skitt and Cruppledean, 
continued to sit and bask in the presence of Miss 
Claverden, while Tom Prouter talked with her. Mr. 
Prouter had no more idea of going home that night to 
attend to his own business than he had of going to the 
house of some distant stranger to attend to his business, 
and after supper he gave some interesting details in 
regard to his milk route. 

“The day before yesterday,” said he, “I made up 
my mind that the milk business is a tiresome bore, 
and that I would give it up ; and when I came over 
here to-day I hoped I would find Dunworth had come 
back, so that I could try to get him to buy the milk 
route, with all the plant.” 

“I expected that,” said Miss Airpenny, “but you 
have given up very soon. I thought you would hold 
out till the middle of October. They have frost here 
by that time, you know, and I expected that to nip 
you and your projects.” 

“Frost ! ” exclaimed Mr. Prouter. “I care no more 
for frost than for sunshine ! But I’ll tell you what 
180 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

did nip me. For a week or more I’ve been driving 
one of the wagons and serving the milk, for since I 
have given up going round the country for no par- 
ticular purpose Fm bound to be busy at something, you 
know. I found serving milk rather jolly, too, because 
I had never done it before and it was altogether a new 
kind of fun. But the day before yesterday a big, fat, 
dirty black woman with an old pitcher in one hand 
and six coppers in the other came out to me, and when 
I poured out a quart of milk for her she said : 6 Mister, 
I reckin you feeds your cows on lemon-skins, ’cause 
the milk gits sour almost as soon as you’s done gone.’ 
‘ Now, look here, Aunt Polly, or whatever your name 
is,’ said 1, 1 1 don’t believe you ever wash that pitcher. 
You go and tell your mistress that she can’t expect to 
have sweet milk if it’s put in a pitcher with old milk 
sticking to the sides a week at a time.’ 1 Mistress ! ’ 
said she, ‘I ain’t got no mistress.’ ‘ Who’s this milk 
for ? ’ said I. 1 It’s fer me,’ said she, ‘ me an’ the chillun.’ 
‘ Do you mean to say,’ said I, 1 that for a week past I 
have been bringing milk to you V 1 Yas, you has,’ said 
she, ‘an’ ain’t I paid you*? ’ Now, when the idea came 
to me that I, a gentleman, you know, was making my 
living by fetching milk to dirty black niggers, it made 
my blood boil ! If there had been a mistress behind 
her I wouldn’t have minded, but to be milkman to that 
African slattern was too much ! I slung the pennies 
she had paid me on the sidewalk, and jerking the 
pitcher from her hand I dashed it into the middle of 
the street, breaking it into bits, and splashing the side 
of a carriage with milk-mud, which I fancy had never 
happened to it before. I tossed the woman half a 
dollar with which to buy a clean pitcher, and then I 
181 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


set off at a gallop, and ran over two ducks, for which 
I had to pay a nigger shoemaker seventy-five cents, 
though Fm sure he sent them to market afterwards. 
And as to the rest of my customers, I forgot all about 
them, and there was a row the next day. Now, you 
know that sort of thing doesn’t pay, to say nothing of 
a man’s family feelings. Really, wasn’t that reason 
enough for me to say I would wash my hands of that 
milk?” 

There was a laugh and a general assent that his 
reason was sufficient. 

“ Because you know,” said Ardis, “as you are bound 
to give up the business anyway, you might as well 
give it up for that reason as for any other.” 

This remark plunged Prouter into sudden thought. 
Did not Miss Claverden believe in his determination 
to be a man among men? Instantly there was a 
change in his ideas. 

“But I am not going to give it up ! ” he cried. “Day 
before yesterday was one thing, and to-day is quite 
another. I may not drive the wagons any more, but 
I do not intend to be idle. I may as well stick to it. 
I dare say there’s a dirty nigger with an unwashed 
pitcher in every profession, and I’ll take mine just as 
other people have to take theirs. Now, that’s the 
way to look at it, isn’t it, Miss Claverden? ” 

“That is a way to look at it,” said Ardis. 

“But you surely think that a man ought not to sit 
idle when everybody else is working? ” 

“I certainly think so,” was the answer. 

“Good ! ” exclaimed Prouter, clapping his hands on 
his knees. 

“Do you mean,” asked Skitt, when the ladies had 
182 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


retired for the night, “that you are going to keep up 
that beastly milk business'? ” 

“I mean,” said Prouter, standing up very straight, 
with a lighted match in one hand and a pipe in the 
other, “that living in a land where man proves his 
worth by honest endeavor, I intend to do that same 
thing myself.” 

Parchester, Skitt, and Cruppledean laughed unre- 
strainedly. “You didn’t think of all that before you 
saw Miss Claverden to-day, did you*? ” asked the latter. 

“No, sir, I did not,” answered Prouter, with flashing 
eyes, “but I think of it now ! ” And he lighted his 
pipe just before the flame of the match reached his 
fingers. 


183 


CHAPTER XVII 

The Dunworth house, although but two stories high, 
was a long one and covered a good deal of ground ; 
and on the first floor, at the extreme end of the build- 
ing, were two guest-chambers, opening into each other, 
one of which Miss Airpenny had appropriated to her- 
self, and to the other she conducted Ardis. Farther 
back than these rooms, on the other side of a hall, 
was the large room of the master of the house. 

“Look in here,” said Miss Airpenny, as, with a lamp 
in her hand, she approached the open door of this room. 
“I keep everything ready for him whenever he chooses 
to come back. Tom Prouter wanted to sleep in here, 
because he said the room was a comfortable one and 
might as well be used. But I wouldn’t listen to it. 
When a man has true English blood in his veins, as 
Mr. Dunworth has, and goes away when he feels like 
it, it is no more than due to him that he shall find 
everything ready for him when he feels like coming 
back. I had a brother who started off one morning to 
buy a horse ; but instead of that he went to Canada and 
stayed four years and made a lot of money, and when 
he came back he threw his hat on the table and his 
top-coat over the back of his chair, just as if what he 
had done had been a matter of course. That’s the 


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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


way they all do it, and they can’t see why people 
should be surprised. True English blood will tell ! ” 

Ardis looked into the room with a peculiar interest. 
The books, the large table littered with paper bags of 
seed, and this, that, and the other thing which Roger 
had temporarily laid there ; the arm-chair pushed 
obliquely back from the table ; the long overcoat and 
hat hanging against the wall ; the narrow bed in a far 
corner— everything in the room impressed Ardis with 
the personality of its owner. She had never seen this 
room before, but in it she could see so much that 
represented Roger Dunworth that the man himself 
seemed to be near her. 

“Do you know,” said Miss Airpenny, “that, somehow, 
when I look into this room I can’t help fancying it 
belonged to somebody dead and gone? But I give 
such thoughts short shrift, I tell you. I’d as lief be a 
Frenchwoman as to think like that ! ” 

When Ardis had gone to bed she did not feel at all 
like sleeping. The oddness of her situation kept her 
mind very active. When she was a little girl and 
Roger Dunworth’s parents were alive, she had visited 
this house, but she had seen only a few of the rooms 
and did not remember them very well. It was strange 
to be here now, and as the guest of Miss Airpenny ! 
It seemed to Ardis that Roger’s room had done more 
to impress him upon her mind than all her previous 
intercourse with him. This may have been so, or it 
may have been that the sight of the room, with all its 
suggestions of personality, had fixed and set impres- 
sions which had before been but partially developed. 
With her eyes shut or open, he was before her ; and 
he stood in the position he had chosen to take, and 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


not in the one in which she had wished him to stand. 
She went to sleep thinking of him, and thinking of 
him in the light of a lover. 

Ardis did not sleep well. Even after she had 
dropped into a doze she was aroused by the young 
men going up -stairs. Pupils of husbandry with a guest 
in their midst are apt to be noisy, and although these 
young fellows had no idea that they disturbed the 
ladies sleeping at the other end of the house, the 
slamming of the front door and their heavy boots upon 
the stairs aroused Ardis, and she could hear Miss Air- 
penny in the next room turn over and grumble. Even 
after the young men had gone up-stairs they could 
occasionally be heard, and after Ardis had supposed 
she had been asleep for hours she was half awakened 
by the sound of footsteps and of closing doors. 

In the morning she arose early, before Miss Air- 
penny, and went out upon the piazza. The air was 
fresh and cool, with white clouds hurrying across the 
blue sky. Voices could be heard in the distant farm- 
yard, but she saw no one, until a boy,— whom she rec- 
ognized as the little fellow who, mounted on a much 
too spirited horse, had once been sent after a runaway 
steer,— came over the lawn toward the house, his boots 
shining from contact with the wet grass. 

“Do you know where Mr. Parchester is, ma’am?” 
asked the boy. 

“No / 7 said Ardis. “Have you looked for him at the 
barn ? 77 

“He 7 s not there , 77 said the boy. “I reckin he 7 s not 
up yet. Will you please give him this note, ma’am, 
when he comes down ? 77 And going up the piazza 
steps, the boy handed Ardis a folded slip of paper. 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“Mr. Dunworth told me just to give it to him, and 
there wouldn’t be no answer/’ said the boy, as he went 
down the steps. 

“Who told you?” exclaimed Ardis, advancing sud- 
denly to the edge of the piazza. 

The boy stopped. “Mr. Dunworth, ma’am,” he 
said. “He give it to me early this mornin’ ; it wasn’t 
real daylight yet. I was goin’ out to look at my traps, 
an’ nobody else was up. He give me that note to give 
to Mr. Parchester just before he went away.” 

Under ordinary circumstances Ardis would have 
told the boy that he should not set traps at this time 
of the year, but now she thought of no such trifle. Her 
eyes were wide open, her lips were slightly parted, her 
whole soul was intent upon the answer to the questions 
which she rapidly put to the boy : “When did he 
come ? Where did he go ? ” 

“I don’t know when he came, ma’am ; reckin it 
must ’a’ been in the middle of the night. I asked ’em 
down at the barn, but nobody seen him but me. I 
reckin he come on Dr. Lester’s yellow horse, for that’s 
left in the stable ; but he went away on his own horse 
—that big bay, ma’am, you once rode.” 

“And he didn’t say where he was going?” asked 
Ardis. 

“Not to me, ma’am,” said the boy. “All he said to 
me was to give that note to Mr. Parchester.” And 
then, having told all that he knew, the boy went away. 

Ardis stood motionless with the folded paper in her 
hand, and her eyes fixed upon the distant landscape, 
but seeing nothing. Roger Dunworth had been here ! 
He had been here, and she had been in his house ! It 
had been he whom she had heard in the night walking 
187 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


about and shutting doors. And she in his house! 
Now she remembered something. There were two 
entrance-ways to this old mansion, both opening on 
the long front piazza. The smaller and narrower hall- 
way lay between the guest-chambers and Roger Dun- 
worth’s room. By this smaller door Ardis and Miss 
Airpenny had gone to their rooms the evening before, 
and Ardis remembered that Miss Airpenny had locked 
it behind them. Ardis had found this door open this 
morning, but had thought nothing of the circumstance. 
But now she felt sure that Roger Dunworth had gone 
out of that door. He had come in some other way ; 
he had been in his room, hours perhaps ; and he had 
gone out of that door in the early, early morning, 
leaving it open. He had passed by the very door of 
her room ! And he had gone ! And where ? 

Ardis stood still, thinking vehemently. He had 
seen no one $ he could have had no idea she was there. 
Had he known she was there, would he have stayed? 
Had she known he was there, she would have called to 
him ; she would have dressed herself and gone out to 
him ; she would have told him what a dreadful and 
wrong impression he had received the day he came to 
the Ridgeby Caves ; and then, had he chosen, he might 
have gone. But he would have known. 

But here was this note. This might tell something. 
Where was Mr. Parchester ? She stepped quickly to 
the large front door, but it was locked. Then she went 
back to the other door and entered the house. She 
walked along the passage, but saw no one. The door 
of Roger Dunworth’s room was open wide, and as she 
passed it she could not help looking in. It was just as 
she had seen it the evening before. But no j the 
188 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


heavy overcoat and hat that had hung against the 
wall were gone. Her quick eye noticed this, and the 
sight of the empty peg struck her like a missile. If 
he had intended soon to return, Roger would not have 
taken that great, heavy overcoat. She turned quickly 
and went away, and as she walked toward the open 
door she heard footsteps upon the piazza. She ran 
out, and there she saw Mr. Parchester, always the 
earliest riser of the pupils, who had just come out of 
the large front door. She hurried toward him. 

“Mr. Parchester,” she said, “here is a note for you 
from Mr. Dunworth. It was handed to me by a boy. 
Will you please read it quickly, and tell me where 
he is?” 

Mr. Parchester was surprised at the pale face and 
earnest manner of Miss Claverden, and he was some- 
what confused because he had on his rough and soiled 
farm clothes, not expecting to meet the young lady so 
early in the morning. But he was not in the least per- 
turbed by receiving a note from Mr. Dunworth, and 
he immediately opened and read it. “There is not 
much in it,” he said, “and he does not give his 
address.” And he handed the note to Ardis. She 
read it eagerly. It ran thus : 

“Mr. Parchester: I do not know when I shall be back. 
I leave the direction of the farm to you. Do not attempt 
anything new. You know the fields which are for wheat 
this season. Have it put in as it was last year. Get 
everything ready for winter. 

“ Yours truly, R. D.” 

There was a strange appearance in Ardis’s eyes as she 
looked up from this note to Mr. Parcliester’s face. “It 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


seems/’ she said, and the words did not appear to come 
easily, “as if Mr. Dunworth intended to stay away for 
a long time.” 

Mr. Parchester looked steadily at the beautiful eyes 
which were fixed upon him. He imagined that tears 
were trying to get into them. “It does look that 
way,” he said, thinking but little of his instructor’s 
intended absence and very much of the eyes. 

Generally Ardis had good control over herself j but 
very early in the morning, when one has not slept 
well, strong emotion is apt to get the advantage of 
ordinary control. The tears did come into her eyes. 
She saw that her companion was looking at her with 
great interest, and she saw, too, that he knew what it 
was in which she took so great an interest. 

Her present state of mind was novel to her. It an- 
noyed her, but she could not help it. She knew it 
meant a great deal, but she did not now endeavor to 
define to herself what it meant. She looked at Mr. 
Parchester ; she knew that by the emotion she had 
shown she had taken this man, almost a stranger, into 
her confidence. 

Ardis was quick to act. She held out her hand to 
him. Mr Parchester’s hand was very large, the palm 
red and rough, and the back of it hairy and covered 
with freckles, and in it he took the soft, white hand of 
Ardis and held it for a moment. 

“Mr. Parchester,” said she, “you will not speak of 
this, will you ? ” She did not say what it was of which 
she would not have him speak, but he knew, and prom- 
ised never to speak of it. And he never did. 


190 


CHAPTER XVIII 


The intelligence of the night visit of Roger Dunworth 
to his home caused much commotion in the household, 
and was the subject of anxious conversation at the 
breakfast-table. Miss Airpenny was forced to admit 
that the restlessness of true English blood was not suffi- 
cient to account for this form of absentation. There 
must be at the bottom of it something she could not 
understand. 

“I dare say it’s money,” said Tom Prouter. “When 
a man goes off this way it’s as like as not there’s money 
trouble at the bottom of it. There was a gentleman 
in Fligwich— where my family live, Miss Claverden 
—who went off in very much this way and stayed a 
fortnight ; but he came back all right, an uncle having 
died in the meantime.” 

“But that sort of thing can’t be depended on to 
happen,” said Miss Airpenny. 

“Xow, then,” said Mr. Parchester, speaking up in a 
bold manner very unusual with him, “that’s all stuff 
about money troubles. I know that last year was a 
very prosperous one with Mr. Dunworth, and there is 
no reason to suppose that he has not all the money he 
wants. He has gone away to attend to his own busi- 
ness in his own way, and when he has attended to it 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


he will come back ; and that’s all there is about it ! ” 
As he finished speaking he could not help glancing at 
Ardis, and the look of gratitude which he received sent 
the blood into his face, which, however, was not noticed 
on account of his general redness. 

“I have no doubt you are right,” said Ardis, “and 
I am sure that Mr. Dunworth would not have gone 
away if he had not been able to leave his affairs in 
such good hands as yours, Mr. Parchester, and those of 
your friends.” 

“Yes,” said Miss Airpenny ; “and if he had known I 
was here I dare say he would have stopped to break- 
fast and have had a little talk with me. But of course 
he did not feel himself called upon to explain his 
comings and his goings to these boys. But I am 
puzzled now as to what I shall do. I was perfectly 
willing to stay here a week, or even a fortnight, and 
take care of the house ; but as to staying on indefi- 
nitely, that is quite another thing, you know.” 

“Now, look here ! ” exclaimed Tom Prouter. “I 
believe Dunworth would be dreadfully upset if he 
knew you were going away from here.” 

“And you would be dreadfully upset,” remarked 
Miss Airpenny, “if you thought I was going back to 
Quantrill’s.” 

The pupils of husbandry burst into an earnest and 
appreciative laugh. Tom Prouter said nothing, but 
went to work vigorously to eat his breakfast. 

“Well,” said Miss Airpenny, “I shall not go just yet. 
I am putting the house through a regular course of 
cleaning, and I shall stay till that is finished. Then 
we shall see what we shall see.” 

After breakfast Ardis received a note from Norma, 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


stating that Mr. Surrey had gone back to Bald Hill 
late on the previous evening, and Ardis, therefore, de- 
termined to return to Heatherley immediately. Tom 
Prouter offered to drive her over in his dog-cart or to 
borrow a saddle and accompany her on horseback, but 
both propositions she firmly declined. Ardis did not 
feel very pleasantly disposed toward Mr. Prouter this 
morning. It was her desire to go away by herself, but 
in any case she did not wish the company of the man 
who had hinted that money troubles were the cause of 
Roger’s absence. 

When Ardis had taken leave of the kind Miss Air- 
penny, who greatly disliked to have her go, she did 
not return to Heatherley by the way she had come, 
but took her way through a lane which led to the road 
on which Dr. Lester’s house was situated. This was 
not her most direct way, but Ardis had a reason for 
taking it. She had not forgotten that the boy had told 
her early that morning that Mr. Dunworth had re- 
turned to his home on Dr. Lester’s horse, which had 
been left in the stables. This proved that the doctor 
knew something of Roger’s movements, and Ardis 
determined to see Dr. Lester before she went to Hea- 
therley or anywhere else. 

After passing between cultivated fields, the lane ran 
along the edge of a piece of woodland which had been 
greatly thinned out, so that the ground lay almost as 
much in sunshine as in shadow. She had not ridden 
far upon this pleasant roadway when, on rounding a 
curve, she saw at a short distance a tall man walking 
toward her. At the sight of him Ardis could but smile. 
Here was Dr. Lester coming after his horse. 

The doctor’s eyes had been fixed upon the ground, 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


but at the sound of hoofs he raised his head, and his 
face was lighted with a sudden joy. But he was sur- 
prised as well. 

“Miss Ardis ! ” he exclaimed, stepping quickly to- 
ward her, “how do you happen to be here ? ” 

“I spent last night with Miss Airpenny, who is 
taking care of Roger Dunworth’s house, you know. I 
was detained by a storm. He was there in the night, 
though nobody knew it until he had gone. And now, 
doctor, please tell me what you know about him. 
You do know something, don’t you?” 

The doctor looked steadily up at her and answered, 
“Yes.” 

Without a word, Ardis released herself from the 
saddle and stirrup and slipped to the ground. “I will 
not keep you standing while we talk, doctor,” she said, 
“and if you will tie Janet, we will sit down on that 
log.” 

“You need not have troubled yourself to get down, 
Miss Ardis,” said the doctor. “I do not in the least 
mind standing.” 

“But I do mind your standing,” said Ardis. 

The doctor pulled down an oak branch, to which he 
tied the bridle of the mare ; and then the two seated 
themselves on a part of a trunk of a tree which lay by 
the roadside. 

“Now,” said Ardis, “what is it?” 

The doctor saw that the girl was deeply interested. 
He looked away from her, and although the light in 
his face faded somewhat, there still remained with h im 
that air of kindly concern which was always present 
when Ardis was. 

“I must begin at the beginning,” said he, “although 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


I must admit that my mind is more exercised with the 
present phase of Roger’s absence. When he first went 
away from home I was much troubled because I did 
not believe his business affairs, or those of anybody 
else, had so suddenly called him away. He is not the 
man to leave his home on business in that manner and 
say nothing to any one. Something serious must have 
been the matter with him. How, as I knew that some- 
thing serious was the matter with him—” 

“What was it?” asked Ardis. 

“He was in love with you,” said the doctor. 

“Hid he tell you that?” 

“Ho,” said the other, “he did not tell me, nor was 
there any necessity for telling me. I knew it very 
well, and I also knew that recently his mind had been 
very much stirred up on account of it. I did not know 
any specific reason why this should be so, and when I 
went after him—” 

“Ho you mean to say you went after him?” inter- 
rupted Ardis. 

“Yes,” said the doctor ; “when I found that he had 
really gone off somewhere, I made special and quiet 
inquiries at and about the station, and I discovered 
that it was more than likely that he had taken a 
northern-bound train. In that case I believed he had 
gone to Baltimore, because his most particular friend, 
Sydney Gaither, lives there, and I thought it probable 
that he would at least make a stop at his house. So I 
took a night train and went to Gaither’s, and, sure 
enough, I found Roger. He looked out of sorts, and 
was, of course, surprised to see me, but, on the whole, 
I did not hesitate to tell him I had come to Baltimore 
on his account. When he knew this he frankly told 
195 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


me his trouble. As I expected, it was all about you. 
Your apparent liking for Surrey, and your refusal to 
listen to Roger, had affected him a good deal ; but he 
had determined to try to get over this. It was his 
last meeting with you and Mr. Surrey— the details of 
which he did not give me— which upset all his resolu- 
tions and nearly drove him crazy. Then he went 
away. He was convinced he had lost you, and he 
ceased to care for anything. 

“I did not press him with questions in regard to 
this last meeting, for I saw that he could scarcely bear 
to think of it, and he had said no more about it than 
that it settled everything; but I told Roger that I 
believed, as I truly did, that he was laboring under 
some cruel mistake, and that he ought to go home, see 
you, and assure himself with certainty how matters 
stood between you. Knowing you as I do, and having 
noticed your avoidance of Mr. Surrey after your return 
from the caves, I was positive Roger was utterly 
mistaken in regard to you and that man. Day after 
day I talked to him, and at last he began to take my 
view of the matter, and yesterday morning he and I 
started home together. 

“I thought it very likely that by this time Mr. 
Surrey had gone away ; but even if he had not, it was 
right that Roger should see you and have this matter 
settled. Had he found that his fears were correct, I 
should not have blamed him if he had thrown up his 
farm and had gone away, anywhere far from here.” 

“ Should not have blamed him ! ” exclaimed Ardis. 

“Ko,” returned the doctor. “He has told me how he 
feels toward you. In everything important that he has 
done in life he has thought of you. This is not a mat- 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


ter of days or months ; it is a matter of years. Without 
you this part of the world would he no place for him.” 

The doctor paused. 

“What next?” said Ardis. 

“We arrived at Bolton late in the afternoon, hired 
a carriage at the station, and drove to my house,” said 
the doctor, “and after supper I lent him my horse 
to ride over to his place. He was to send the horse 
back, and I was to go to Bald Hill this morning and 
find out whether or not Mr. Surrey was there, and how 
affairs stood generally, and report to Roger 5 after 
which he was to go to you. My real object in making 
this plan was to see you before Roger came, and to 
make the way clear for him, if I could. But this morn- 
ing I received a note from Roger, brought by a boy 
from Bolton. In this he told me that after he had left 
me he had changed his mind and had determined to 
go to Bald Hill to see you. He went there ; he did not 
see any of the family, but he learned that you and Mr. 
Surrey were at Heatherley. To this he added nothing 
except that he had gone home, and had started from 
there on a long journey, on which it would be useless 
for any one to follow him. This note was such a cool 
and dispassionate one that it troubled me more than 
if he had raved a little. He even said that he was 
sorry that he had forgotten to leave orders that my 
horse should be brought back to me. As soon as I 
read the note I started for his house, and I am very 
glad I met you.” 

Ardis said nothing ; she was looking on the ground 
and thinking. Her thoughts all merged into one 
overpowering regret. If Roger had only come to his 
home last evening he would have seen her ! N o matter 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


where he had come from — straight from Bolton, from 
the doctor’s house, or even after the statement he had 
heard at Bald Hill, — he would have seen her and every- 
thing could have been said. When he had heard that 
she and Surrey were away together, his heart must have 
been crushed: The bitter conviction must have come 
upon him that without doubt he had lost her, that 
without doubt she had deceived him. 

But he had not come home until the middle of the 
night ; and then he had gone forth again, seeing no- 
body, knowing nothing, and passing within a few feet 
of where she was thinking and dreaming of him !— 
going with his heart full of despair upon a journey 
where it was useless for any one to follow him ! 

Suddenly she turned toward her companion. “Dr. 
Lester,” said she, “you must think a great deal of 
Roger Dunworth to do so much for him.” 

“I do think very much of him,” he quietly answered, 
gazing steadfastly before him at the far-away hills. 

Ardis looked at him for a moment. “Dr. Lester,” she 
said, “you don’t know what a friend you have been ! ” 
And with a heart full of tender thankfulness, she half 
rose, leaned toward him, and kissed him. 

The tenacity of life possessed by human hope is 
truly amazing. It can scarcely be said that the hope 
which had been born of this man’s love for Ardis had 
ever truly lived. It had never been anything but a 
half-formed weakling. He had honestly believed it 
dead. But now, as he felt the touch of those lips, that 
hope sprang in an instant into full life and vigor, and 
stood before him in exultant majesty. His eyes 
sparkled, his face shone, as though a sudden blaze had 
198 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


sprung into existence within him. But the next in- 
stant the light vanished and hope fell dead before him, 
cold, shrivelled, and never to rise again. That kiss had 
called it into life only to give it its death-stroke. 

“Good-by, doctor,” said Ardis, rising ; “I must go on 
now, and I am sure yon will let us know if you hear 
anything more of Mr. Dunworth.” 

The soul of Ardis was deeply stirred, but she could 
not speak of the disquiet within her. Indeed, she had 
not fully made plain to herself its full force and 
meaning. 

The doctor arose, untied her horse, and helped her 
to the saddle. Then he bade her good-by, and she 
rode away. 

He did not look after her, but slowly walked back 
to the log and sat down. How he knew himself as he 
had not known himself before. That kiss from Ardis 
had shown him what he truly was : he was an elderly 
friend of the family. 

Given to him thus freely and spontaneously in grati- 
tude for what he had done for the man she loved, it 
was the same kiss, in its true meaning, as those she had 
given him when a little girl in gratitude for a handful 
of nuts or a cunningly carved toy. 

This kiss from Ardis Claverden could have but one 
significance : he was as much older now than she as he 
had been when she was a little girl. If this fact had 
not before fully impressed him, if he had allowed 
himself to think that while her years went on his stood 
still, the fact had impressed her, and she had not 
thought as he had thought. 

He rose to his feet. He was not a more elderly man 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


than when he had sat down with Ardis upon that log, 
nor had his position with regard to her changed ; but 
now a kiss had stamped his age upon him and had 
shown him where he stood. 

He walked slowly home, forgetting all about his 
horse. 


200 


CHAPTER XIX 

When Ardis reached Heatherley she found Xorma 
Cranton in an animated mood. Though strongly desir- 
ous of knowing what had happened to Ardis since she 
had left the day before, she was still more desirous to 
tell what had happened to her, and began immedi- 
ately. 

“I had a fine time yesterday,” she said, “with two 
of your lovers. First came Mr. Egbert Dalrymple, 
and much fretted was he not to find you here. He 
said he would wait until your return, and wait he did, 
stalking solemnly up and down the parlor, and now 
and then dropping down upon the piano-stool and 
touching off little bits of tribulation on the keys. As 
he showed plainly that he had not come to see me, 
and as I was very busy, I left him to himself. But as 
I was passing through the parlor in a great hurry, with 
my key-basket in my hand, and with two women down- 
stairs who could do nothing until I went back, and 
a man from Bolton at the back door who had been 
waiting half an hour to see me about apples, your 
Mr. Dalrymple, who was leaning against the mantel- 
piece with his arms folded and his eyes fixed upon a 
spot in the carpet, made last year by a popping cinder, 
stopped me short with a question. ‘Miss Cranton/ 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


said he, ‘ what is your opinion regarding the condition 
or status of the human soul immediately after death ? 7 
ISTow, what do you think of such a man? To stop a 
housekeeper at her very busiest time and ask her a 
question like that ! I looked at him for a moment, 
and then I said: ‘If we can get our souls into the 
proper condition before death, we shall have done all 
that can be expected of us. What follows will take 
care of itself. 7 ‘So? 7 said he, lifting his eyebrows. 
And with that I left- him. And no sooner had I got 
through with the apple-man than up rides your Mr. 
Surrey. He also said he would wait until you came 
back. It was enough to make a cat laugh ! 

“‘There is another gentleman waiting for her in the 
parlor, 7 said I, ‘so of course his turn comes first, and 
it may be a good while before you see her. 7 He asked 
who the other gentleman was, and when I told him, 
he smiled and said he could afford to wait as long as 
was necessary. So he tied his horse ; but he did not go 
into the parlor, and when I had finished the quinces 
I came out and found him on the piazza, comfortably 
smoking a cigar. He stopped me with a question, too, 
but it was no stuff and nonsense about souls. You 
know I never did have any use for Mr. Surrey, but I 
must say that, taking him right after Mr. Dalrymple, 
he showed to advantage. I wouldn’t have expected it 
of him, but he really takes a good deal of interest in 
desiccated apples and all sorts of farm matters. And 
he knows a good deal, too, which also surprised me. 
We were still talking together when Mr. Dalrymple 
came out. He nodded to Mr. Surrey as if his head 
had been a loose handle to a carving-fork. 

“‘I shall not remain longer, 7 he said 5 and he bade 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


me a stiff good morning. But when he was half-way 
down the steps he suddenly stopped and turned. 
‘ Will you kindly tell Miss Claverden,’ said he, ‘that I 
shall call to-morrow morning about ten o’clock to in- 
vite her to drive with me?’ And with this he de- 
parted.” 

“It is long after ten o’clock now,” said Ardis. 

“Oh ! he has been and gone,” Norma returned. 
“He did not wait a minute when he found you were 
not here. I think it likely he has gone to Bald Hill. 
Mr. Surrey laughed a little at the young man after he 
left yesterday, and then he told me that he was of a 
different sort, and that if it would not put me to any 
inconvenience he would remain until you returned. 
He said he would be obliged to go North this morn- 
ing, and he did not wish to go without taking leave of 
you. Of course I could not help his staying, and he 
stayed to dinner. Father was away, but even Curtis, 
who does not like strangers, said to me that he thought 
Mr. Surrey a very agreeable gentleman. 

“I had a private notion that you had ridden over to 
Bald Hill, and finding Mr. Surrey away, had stayed 
there to dinner ; but I was beginning to be worried 
about you when your note came. Then I felt all right. 
I told Mr. Surrey that you were visiting Miss Air- 
penny, and that on account of the weather you would 
stay there all night. I am sure if he had known how 
near you were he would have gone to you ; but he 
must have taken it for granted that you were at 
Quantrill’s, where he knew Miss Airpenny lived ; and 
as that is nine miles from here, he could not expect to 
get there before bedtime, even if he knew the roads. 
At any rate, he said nothing about it, and he stayed 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


until long after there was any reason to suppose you 
would come back ; and I could see that he really hated 
to go away without seeing you. I almost pitied him.” 

“There was no reason whatever to pity him,” said 
Ardis, “and I am greatly obliged to you for not telling 
him where I was. I want very much to go back to 
father, but I shall not go near Bald Hill until I know 
for certain that Mr. Surrey has left for the North.” 

“I will send over to Bald Hill this afternoon to find 
out how matters are,” said Norma. “And now tell me 
if you have heard anything about Roger Dunworth.” 

“Yes,” said Ardis. “He came home last night after 
everybody had gone to bed, and he went away this 
morning before anybody was up. N o one in the family 
saw him, and though he left a note for Mr. Parchester, 
he did not say where he was going.” 

“He has gone to stay away,” said Norma, “because 
he will not live in this part of the world without you. 
I don’t know whether you have refused him or whether 
he has given up in despair on account of your other 
admirers, but I have been certain all along that it was 
on your account he went away.” 

Norma waited a few moments to receive some sort 
of answer from her companion, but none came, and 
then she added : “Don’t you think, when you put it to 
yourself, that you are at the bottom of Roger Dun- 
worth’s trouble f ” 

“Oh, yes,” said Ardis. 

At this moment Ardis was glad that the conversation 
was ended by the entrance of a servant with a sum- 
mons for Norma. If she had taken anybody into her 
confidence it would have been Norma Cranton, but 
she was not ready to make confidences. 

204 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


After dinner a messenger sent to Bald Hill by 
Norma brought news that Mr. Surrey had departed 
for the North, and although Norma insisted that for 
the sake of appearances, if for nothing else, her friend 
should remain with her a little longer, the sun was 
still high up in the sky when Ardis sprang from the 
saddle of her mare Janet into the arms of her father. 


205 


CHAPTER XX 


Two weeks had passed since Ardis Claverden’s return 
to Bald Hill. It was now the middle of October. The 
sunshine was yet warm and cheery, but the mornings 
and evenings were growing cool and frosty. The 
house was lively, for General Tredner and ex- Governor 
Upton, old friends of Major Claverden, were there on 
a visit of indefinite length. Dr. Lester was a frequent 
member of this group of good fellows ; Mr. Dalrymple 
was an almost daily visitor— sometimes seeing Ardis, 
and sometimes going away disappointed ; Tom Prouter 
drove up in his dog-cart whenever his lacteal duties 
gave him an excuse to come that way $ and even Par- 
chester, Skitt, and Cruppledean occasionally smoked 
a pipe in the company of the master of Bald Hill. 

Twice Norma Cranton spent a few hours with Ardis, 
but she found her very quiet and uncommunicative ; 
and, knowing her friend to be one who chafed under 
questioning, she prudently avoided making inquiries 
in regard to the Dunworth affair, feeling sure that 
when Ardis saw fit to make confidences she would be 
the one to whom they would be made. It was not a 
lack of desire to know all about such matters that en- 
abled Norma to act thus prudently. The fact was that 
in her own mind she had already settled the whole 
206 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


matter. Disappointed love had driven Roger Dun- 
worth away. If Ardis should ever give him encour- 
agement to do so he would come hack and marry her. 
If this should not happen, he would probably give up 
his farm to his younger brother Henry, who was now 
living in Kentucky, and establish himself on a cattle- 
ranch in Texas. If she knew anything of Dunworth 
blood, it would never permit Roger to settle himself 
for life in this neighborhood as a disappointed bache- 
lor, or as the husband of any woman but the one whom, 
as everybody knew, he had loved for so many years. 

It was not so easy for Ardis to bring her mind to a 
satisfactory conclusion in regard to this affair, in which 
she was so deeply concerned. She went to work in her 
studio, but art just now did not interest her, and the 
crackling wood fires which Uncle Shad built up for 
her did not seem to prevent her fingers from get- 
ting cold and stiff. There were plenty of people to 
talk to, but their talk was not of the kind to which 
she cared to listen. So she painted a little, conversed 
a little, and thought much. 

Her thoughts were nearly always upon two persons : 
Roger Dunworth and herself. With Roger she was 
not well satisfied. It was true that he loved her 5 
there could be no doubt of that : but he had not treated 
her well. He had no right to go away and keep away, 
carrying with him such a dreadful mistake concerning 
Mr. Surrey and herself. He should have come to her 
boldly ; he should not have been willing to trust any- 
thing but her own words in regard to such a thing as 
this. But, on the other hand, perhaps it was too much 
to expect of any man to doubt his own conclusions 
after such apparent evidence had come to him as had 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


come to Roger. It was very hard for her to decide 
whether or not his conduct was to be justified. 

But in regard to herself she was able to come to a 
decision, and before the middle of the month she 
determined that she ought honestly and candidly to 
acknowledge to herself that she was in love with Roger 
Dunworth. This conclusion was not entirely pleasing 
to her, and at first she felt inclined to rebel against it ; 
but she saw that fair play to herself demanded that 
she should admit the fact. Were this not so, it would 
not trouble her by night and by day to think of the 
mistake under which Roger had gone away ; were it 
not so, her mind would not be filled with doubts as to 
his coming back or as to what he might think in such 
and such a case. She knew that it was not only an old 
friend and neighbor who had gone away ; she knew it 
was not only her lover who had gone away : she knew 
it was the man she loved. 

When Ardis became fully aware of the position in 
which she stood her spirits rose. She was a girl to 
whom action was true life. But the fact that the na- 
ture of the case and its peculiar circumstances debarred 
her from present action did not in the least discourage 
her. She felt that she was ready to act when the time 
came, and this feeling gave courage to her spirits and 
brightness to her eyes $ but the reason for this feeling 
went deep down into her soul and made a new being 
of her. 

That Ardis had become a different woman since 
their arrival at Bald Hill did not dawn upon the minds 
of the general and the ex-governor ; Egbert Dalrym- 
ple, when he had the pleasure of spending a half-hour 
with her, noticed no change in her ; Tom Prouter came 
208 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


to the conclusion that she was growing handsomer 
every day, but he had thought that ever since he had 
known her ; and when her father said to himself, as he 
looked at her, that there never was such a grand com- 
bination as that of Ardis and Claverden blood, he was 
aware of no reason why he should think so more fre- 
quently than ever before. It was only Dr. Lester who 
knew. 

An avalanche upon the grave of a dead thing cannot 
make that thing more dead. The grave in which lay 
the dead hopes of this quiet gentleman was unmarked 
by mound or stone, and it was of slight import how 
deeply it was covered out of sight. 

Toward the end of October Dr. Lester came, one 
day, to Bald Hill, and taking Ardis aside, told her 
that he had had a letter from Roger Dunworth. 

“It is not much of a letter,” he said, “and gives no 
clew to his present whereabouts. It was written more 
than a week ago at Hickory Hollow, a village in 
northern Georgia, and merely asks me to attend to 
some business for him. I think he is making an 
equestrian excursion through that country, in which 
I know he is interested. If I were you,” added the 
doctor, speaking very gently, “I would not allow 
myself anxiety about Roger. I should not be sur- 
prised if he were to return home twenty pounds 
heavier than when he left us. A tall fellow, such as 
he is, can well stand that.” 

“So you think I need not be worried about him 1 ?” 
she said. 

“Yes,” answered Dr. Lester. “There is no reason 
to doubt that he is in good health, and I believe that 
when travel through an interesting country has re- 
209 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


stored his mind to something of its normal tone he 
will return, resolved, if necessary, to bear the worst. 
Once here, I have no fear but that everything will be 
right.” 

There came a slight smile upon the face of Ardis. 
“You think everything will be right?” 

“Yes,” said the doctor, “I think everything will be 
right.” 

The doctor stepped to the window. Then he came 
back and said : “I shall do my best to get a letter to 
him. I shall address him at Hickory Hollow, and 
request that the letter be forwarded from place to 
place. This may avail nothing, but I shall try it.” 

“Thank you,” said Ardis ; and she gave him her 
hand. 

“What ! ” exclaimed Major Claverden, as he entered 
the room, “you don’t mean, doctor, that you are taking 
leave of us at this time of day ! You must stay to 
dinner ! ” 

Hr. Lester had intended to take dinner at Bald Hill, 
to which hospitable house he was always privileged to 
invite himself $ but as he believed that Miss Ardis 
would not wish her father to suppose that the hand- 
shaking between them meant any more than leave- 
taking, he said that he must go, having letters to write 
which must be despatched that afternoon. 

As he jogged homeward on his cream-colored horse, 
Hr. Lester’s mind was not in that condition of freedom 
from anxiety which he had endeavored to produce in 
Ardis. He was greatly worried about Roger Hun- 
worth. He believed all that he had told Ardis, but 
he had not seen fit to tell her that he feared it 
would be a long time before the young man would be 
210 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


content to return home and face the worst. The tone 
of the letter he had received— which he had not taken 
to Bald Hill— impressed upon him the fact that Roger 
had gone away to stay for a long time. Had the letter 
been of a more emotional character the doctor could 
have hoped ; but its practical nature indicated a fixed 
purpose which troubled him. 

Dr. Lester was a man eminently adapted to attend 
to other people’s business, and he found no difficulty 
in allaying the apprehensions of Mr. Dunworth’s 
neighbors in regard to his absence. Having heard 
from him on business, he spoke as his agent, and how- 
ever much people might conjecture and criticise when 
they spoke of Dunworth’s absence, they saw no reason 
for anxiety. 

As the doctor was sitting writing, that afternoon, 
with his table drawn near to a fire of remarkably 
crooked sticks, Bonetti came in. 

“ Evenin’, doctor,” said the visitor, walking up to the 
fire and spreading his hands over it, for the day was 
cloudy and the outside air cool. “Are you writing to 
Miss Ardis?” 

The doctor put down his pen and arose from the 
table. He stepped to the mantelpiece, took from it 
a short brier- wood pipe, and proceeded to fill it from 
a tobacco-j ar near by. “ Bonnet,” said he, as he pressed 
the tobacco into the bowl with his forefinger, “the 
time has come to drop that.” 

“Do you mean to say,” exclaimed Bonetti, his face 
lighting with interest, “that you have spoken to her ? ” 

“Drop it ! ” said the doctor. 

“Ho more supposing ? ” asked the other. “Ho more 
lookin’ at it in this way and in t’other way ? ” 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“Drop it ! ” said the doctor. 

“Well, upon my word ! ” said Bonetti. “I never 
did think that you yourself would be able to drop it ! ” 

“It is to be dropped/’ said the doctor, “individually 
and collectively. There is another pipe there.” 

Bonetti took the pipe and proceeded to fill it. “Of 
course I’ll drop it, if you say so,” said he, “but it’s like 
rootin’ up a black-gum saplin’ $ it’s hard to do. That’s 
a thing you and me has talked about for a long time, 
doctor.” 

“And which is to be dropped now,” said Dr. Lester, 
as he puffed gently at his pipe. 

Bonetti also stood and puffed. A blank had sud- 
denly come into his life. No more could he join with 
his fellow-philosophizer in suppositions regarding what 
might happen to Dr. Lester if Miss Ardis should do 
this or that. No longer could he coolly study the 
phases of this peculiar attachment. Something had 
happened, and the subject must be dropped. So far 
as words were concerned, Bonetti dropped it $ but for 
days his mind was filled with conjectures as to the 
thing that had happened. But, although he was an 
adept at conjecturing, he never conjectured what a 
kiss had done for Dr. Lester. 


212 


CHAPTER XXI 


It was at the end of the last week in October that Mr. 
Egbert Dalrymple came riding down the road, which 
passed the Bald Hill gate, at the same time that Tom 
Pronter came driving up the road in his dog-cart. 
The young Englishman saw the horseman from afar, 
and feeling sure he intended to turn in to Bald Hill, 
Prouter whipped up and got first to the gate. This 
was open, and he rattled triumphantly up the lane. 
He knew who it was that Dalrymple was coming to 
see, and although he himself had come there to consult 
the major in regard to the wintering of cows, he re- 
solved to be first at the house. He bounced from his 
dog-cart and hurried up the steps ; but his knock was 
not immediately answered, and by the time the door 
was opened Egbert Dalrymple stood near him. 

Prouter did not take the time to salute the other, 
but immediately inquired of the servant if Miss Clav- 
erden was at home. Cows and the major had passed 
out of his mind. 

The servant replied that the lady was not at home ; 
and at this moment Major Claverden came out of the 
library, having overheard the colloquy. 

“Walk in, gentlemen, walk in ! ” he said, shaking 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


hands with each of them ; he ushered them into the 
spacious room, where the general was seated in an 
easy- chair, refreshing himself after a morning walk 
over the farm. 

Egbert Dalrymple bowed to the gentleman to whom 
he was introduced, but he did not sit down. “I under- 
stand / 7 he said to the major, “that your daughter is 
not at home. May I ask when she may be expected 
to return ? 77 

“I wish I knew ! I wish I knew ! 77 said the major, 
rubbing his hands and smiling good-humoredly. “It 
would take a prophet to tell us that. She went yester- 
day to New York, in company with Governor Upton, 
to visit some friends there ; and when Bald Hill will 
see her again I am sure I do not know . 77 

Mr. Dalrymple stepped back. His brow contracted, 
his face darkened. “So ! 77 he exclaimed. 

“I beg you will take a seat, sir , 77 said the major, who 
would not sit down while a guest was standing. 

Mr. Dalrymple paid no attention to his invitation. 

“For several years , 77 continued the major, “my 
daughter has spent part of the winter either in Wash- 
ington or in New York. It is too much to expect of 
one of her age and tastes to be satisfied to spend the 
season of bad weather shut up here in the country, 
with no one but us old fellows— or even you young 
fellows— for company. But I always expect to have 
her here for Christmas . 77 

“And like a dutiful daughter, sir , 77 said the general, 
“I presume she is always here ? 77 

“Oh, yes , 77 was the reply. “We generally get as 
many young people here as possible for the holidays, 
and we have a jolly time ! 77 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“There can be no doubt of that, sir,” said the deep^ 
voiced general, with another sip at his glass. 

Mr. Dalrymple now took two steps forward, and 
stood, his right leg slightly advanced, his left hand on 
the back of a chair, his right hand thrust into the 
breast of his buttoned coat, and upon his countenance 
a sombre hue such as sometimes comes over the sky 
just before the storm- wind has determined in what 
direction it will sweep everything before it. “Sir,” 
said he, in a tone of quiet incision like the first pre- 
monitory whistle from the north, “will you kindly give 
me Miss Claverden 7 s address in New York ? 77 

The major could not repress a short laugh. “Oho ! 77 
he said. “That sort of business is entirely out of my 
bailiwick. When my daughter wishes any one to have 
her address she gives it— I never do. The augmenta- 
tion of the correspondence of a young lady is a very 
serious thing, sir. And now I wish you would take a 
seat and have a glass of our morning toddy. It is 
very gentle, I can assure you . 77 

Mr. Dalrymple drew himself up to his full height. 
“So ! 77 he ejaculated. Then with a few, long, graceful, 
sidelong steps he reached the door, where, turning, he 
made a low bow, which included all the company. 
Then he rapidly left the house. On the lawn he found 
his horse, which he had left to its own control, quietly 
grazing, with a little negro boy holding the bridle. 
Advancing to the side of the animal, he stood for 
a moment gazing upon the ground. Then suddenly 
extending his right arm upward into the air, he ex- 
claimed, “So ! 77 and mounting, he rode away. 

The negro boy stood for a moment in astonishment. 
Then he extended his right arm, his torn and dirty 
215 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


shirt sleeve fluttering from his elbow, and exclaimed : 
“ Jist so ! Hex’ time I hoi’ your hoss, mister, I reckin 
you’ll give me a copper fust.” 

Egbert Dalrymple had come to Bald Hill that morn- 
ing with a purpose. It was a purpose born of a sudden 
inspiration. It had come upon him like a flash that 
this was the day, this the hour, to unveil before the 
eyes of Ardis Claverden that peerless creation of pas- 
sionate adoration which had grown up within him. 
Fate had postponed the ceremony. But he snapped 
his fingers at fate. In his soul the roar of the storm- 
wind had already begun. 

Tom Prouter had also come to Bald Hill with a pur- 
pose. It had been shadowy and undefined, with agri- 
cultural sticks and straws showing here and there, but 
the moment he had seen Egbert Dalrymple coming 
down the road this vague purpose had crystallized into 
a firm resolve to reach Bald Hill before the other fellow 
got there, and to be the first to see Miss Claverden. 
Of what he should say to her when he saw her he had 
had no thought. If he unveiled anything, it would 
probably be the difficulties surrounding his milk route. 
But he was bound to get there before Dalrymple. 

When he entered the library Prouter had taken 
a seat and a proffered glass of toddy ; and now, al- 
though disappointed that Miss Claverden was away, it 
comforted him to think that the Dalrymple dude was 
no better off than he was, and he resigned himself to 
the pleasure of his surroundings, and accepted the 
major’s invitation to stay to dinner. 

Ardis’s determination to go to Hew York had been 
arrived at rather suddenly. After Dr. Lester’s latest 
communication regarding Roger Dunworth she had 
216 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


felt a desire to leave Bald Hill for a time. Generally 
she much enjoyed autumn in the country, but the 
season seemed a different one this year. Nature did 
not interest her. If Roger were really travelling 
about an interesting country and endeavoring to get 
his mind into a normal state, she would go to some 
place which would interest her and get her mind into 
a normal state. If she were away from Bald Hill this 
too passionate young man might sooner return to his 
home, and at all events she preferred to be away when 
he came back. 

For years she had had a standing invitation from 
two friends in New York to make them a long visit ; 
but social demands upon her time when in New York 
had never allowed her to stay with these friends. Now 
she determined to go to them. 

Mr. and Mrs. Chiverley were artists. With them 
Ardis knew she could live a life which would interest 
her. Her decision to visit these friends was made 
promptly enough, but she would not have acted upon 
it so soon had not the ex*governor found it necessary 
to make a trip to New York, and the opportunity of 
his escort was very desirable. She wrote to her friends 
that she would come to them unless she received a tele- 
gram stating that it would not be convenient, and when 
the ex-governor was ready to start she was ready also. 

She did not do much in the way of leave-taking. 
She galloped over to Heatherley, and in the course 
of her half-hour conversation with Norma the latter 
bluntly asked her : “And what are you going to do 
about Roger Dunworth?” 

Ardis smiled. “When he comes back,” she said, 
“and I come back—” 


217 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“You will give him a good scolding/’ struck in 
Norma, “and then marry him.” 

“It is such a comfort/’ said Ardis, “to have people 
answer their own questions ! And now, good-by.” 

Dr. Lester was at the house the evening before Ardis 
left for the North, and she found an opportunity to 
say to him that she hoped he would write to her when 
he heard from Roger Dunworth. The doctor declared 
that he would most certainly write whenever he heard 
anything, and hoped he might always write good news. 

“You must remember, doctor, you are the only one 
who knows that I desire to hear from Roger.” 

The doctor assured her that he remembered, and 
that he was very proud and glad that both she and 
Roger had trusted in him as they had done. 

“You are such a true friend,” said Ardis, “that 
neither of us could help trusting you.” 

The expression “neither of us ” came upon the doctor 
with a little shock, but the effect was only momentary. 
For some years he had considered a union between 
Ardis Claverden and Roger Dunworth as an event 
which in all probability would occur, and which would 
be satisfactory in the highest degree to the young 
people and to all their friends. But events which we 
expect have often an unexpected effect upon us when 
they happen. 

“My dear child,” said Major Claverden to his 
daughter the next morning, as she stood before him 
in her travelling-suit, “I hope you may thoroughly 
enjoy yourself with your friends and your art ; but 
you must not let any of those young fellows of the 
N orth take you away from me. Y ou know that I have 
the strongest reliance on your judgment in regard to 
218 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


such things, but when I see before me even the dim- 
mest vision of a son-in-law taken from a land of 
strangers I must have a word to say about it.” 

“ Father,” said Ardis, “if you want to be comfortable 
in your mind, please keep on trusting me in this 
matter.” Then she looked up at the clock. “There 
are seven minutes yet,” she said, “before we need 
start, and in that time I want to put a question to you. 
Supposing I were to ask you to choose a husband for 
me, do you know of any one whom you would be 
willing to recommend ? ” 

“Husbands be hanged ! ” said the major. “I don’t 
want you to be thinking of them ! But yet, I suppose 
the thing can’t be helped. Well, then, if you were to 
put the matter into my hands, I should say without 
any hesitation whatever : 6 Here is Roger Dunworth ; 
take him, your old playfellow, your friend, and your 
neighbor, the son of my old playfellow, my friend, and 
my neighbor. Nothing could be better than that for 
him, for you, and for me.’ Now I have squarely 
answered your question, have I not 1 ” 

“Nothing could be squarer,” said Ardis, “and here 
is Governor IJpton, promptly on time.” 

“Good-by, Bald Hill,” cried Ardis, a few minutes 
afterward, as she waved her hand from the family 
carriage, in which she and the ex-governor, with her 
father and the general to see them off, were being 
whirled away to town. 


219 


CHAPTER XXII 

It has been said that Mr. and Mrs. Chiverley were 
artists, and it may be added that they were poor 
artists. It must not be supposed, however, that this 
remark is intended to indicate a want of artistic merit 
in the Chiverleys. It applies principally to their lack 
of money, and also, in a certain degree, to their want 
of merit. But in this sense their friends agreed that 
the remark should be made in much gentleness and 
charity, and not before everybody. The Chiverleys 
were most excellent and lovable people, and although 
it was easy enough to see that with more artistic merit 
they would have had more money, their friends, none 
of whom were picture -buyers, did not allow this fact 
to interfere in the least with the high estimation in 
which they held these two good people. 

The trouble with Harry Chiverley was that he had 
nothing in himself which he could put into his work. 
He could copy what he could see, but if he could not 
see what he wanted to paint, he had no mental power 
which would bring that thing before him, or to trans- 
form what he saw into what it ought to be. He 
painted industriously, but, as he himself sometimes 
admitted, his pictures were as hard to look upon as 
they were to sell. 


220 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“What that painting wants/’ his wife would say, 
“is vim, snap, spirit, rattle, clatter, go ! ” 

“It is very likely you are right,” Mr. Chiverley 
would say, “and we must see if we cannot put some of 
those things into the next picture.” And to work he 
would go at the next picture, which would be sure to 
turn out very much the same thing as the one painted 
before it. 

The trouble with Mrs. Chiverley was that she did 
not know how to paint. With her there was no lack 
of artistic imagination. Her brain was full of pictures, 
which, if they could have been transferred to the brain 
of her husband, who did know how to paint, would 
have brought fame and fortune. At one end of her 
brush was artistic talent, almost genius ; at the other 
was a pigment mixed with oil. But the one never ran 
down to the other. The handle of the brush was a 
non-conductor. 

Harry Chiverley had been a young man for a long 
time, and he was now beginning to be a young middle- 
aged man, but there was no sign of even the very 
earliest middle age in that charming woman, his wife. 
He had a thorough knowledge of the principles and 
methods of art, and was an excellent teacher. It was 
by his scholars that they lived. But he had plenty of 
time to paint, and worked indefatigably at his easel. 
Sometimes a picture was disposed of, but this did not 
happen often, and was always the occasion of a special 
thanksgiving day. If he had painted better he would 
have had more scholars and less time to paint, but for 
a good many years he had shown no sign of improve- 
ment except in manual and technical skill. “Vim, 
rattle, snap, go,” never came. 

221 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Mr. Chiverley and his wife had passed two summers 
at Bolton, where Ardis had been one of their pupils. 
Of course they had experienced the extended hospi- 
tality of Bald Hill and well knew the genial character 
of the major. But this year the Chiverleys had not 
been in the country at all. The winter had been a 
hard one with them. Mr. Chiverley had painted a 
great deal and taught but little ; with him the scholar 
crop had been a short one. As the spring came on 
their affairs did not improve, and it became plain 
enough to both of them that they could not retain 
their studio and also go into the country. 

“In this case / 7 said Mrs. Chiverley, “we can have no 
difficulty in deciding what to do. The studio is a 
necessity, the country is a luxury . 77 

“Hot altogether, my dear , 77 said her husband, “for 
it is in the country that I make most of my studies . 77 

“Still I am inclined to think it is a luxury , 77 she said. 

The Chiverleys were very fond of their studio. 
Like many other studios, it was a large room in the 
upper part of a great building. It had an excellent 
north window. If Harry Chiverley gave up that north 
window he did not know where he would ever get an- 
other like it. Opening from this room was a small one 
in which they slept, and there was also a dark room 
in which they cooked and kept their stores, their 
trunks, and all their rubbish. They ate in one corner 
of their studio, and another corner, which had been 
screened off to serve for a model-room, but which had 
seldom been used for that purpose, was occasionally 
made to serve for a guest-chamber. 

The studio was not furnished with the tapestries, 
the bric-a-brac, the armor, and the various artistic 
222 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


adornments which are usually found in studios. The 
walls were pretty well covered with Mr. Chiverley’s 
pictures, without frames, and there were some hang- 
ings and pieces of furniture which did not cost much 
and looked well. But against the wall, opposite the 
north window, stood a possession of which they were 
justly proud. This was a tall, antique clock which 
some years before Mr. Chiverley had found in a highly 
dilapidated condition in a bric-a-brac shop, and had 
bought for a moderate sum. He was in many ways an 
ingenious and dexterous man, and with his own hands 
he put the clock into excellent condition. He cleaned 
and oiled the works, hung the weights with new cords, 
and made it able to tick out time as steadfastly as in 
the days of its youth. All damages to the massive 
wooden case were carefully repaired, the brass-work 
was cleaned and polished, and for days upon days he 
and his wife labored with enthusiasm upon the tall 
structure, scraping, varnishing, and polishing, bringing 
out the grain of the wood and restoring the tone and 
color, until the clock stood up proudly like an ancient 
piece of furniture in perfect preservation, with color 
enriched and mellowed by every hour whose passage 
it had chronicled, and not sleek and shining as if it 
had been furbished at the shop of a furniture-dealer. 

It was not only a clock which was good to look upon, 
but it was one which could be depended upon. By 
daily comparison between it and a chronometer in a 
watchmaker’s window below, Mr. Chiverley regulated 
it into a condition of truthfulness where it had but few 
rivals among its antique brethren. It had not been 
long after the clock had been set going that one night, 
when they had gone to bed, and the lights were out, 
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and the clock had struck the hour, Harry Chiverley 
said to his wife, as the deep, deliberate tones came in 
to them from the shadows of the studio : “ Doesn’t it 
make you happy to think we have a clock like that? 
He is like a third member of the family— just as much 
alive as either of us, a true friend, who stays awake 
all night, telling us the hour and the half-hour, whether 
we are asleep or not, and ready even then to inform 
us about the tides and the moon, if we choose to light 
a candle and go look at him.” 

“Never in my life,” said Mrs. Chiverley, “have I had 
a desire to know about the tides, or the moon either, 
strong enough to make me get out of my bed and look 
at the clock. But it is wonderfully companionable to 
have him speak to us when we are lying awake in the 
darkness of the night.” 

“Or at any other time,” said her husband. “I think 
it is delightful for him to tell us the time to stop work 
and to get ready for luncheon or dinner. Indeed, I 
truly believe,” he added, “that if there should happen 
to be no luncheon or dinner for us, it would be a com- 
pensation to have him tell us that the time for the 
meal had come. It would make us feel better to know 
that he had done his part and was all right, no matter 
what else had happened.” 

“I think it would be quite the other way,” said Mrs. 
Chiverley j “but you must not imagine I intend to say 
a single word against the clock.” 

Early in the summer in which our story opened it 
happened that the clock summoned the Chiverleys 
three times a day to meals that were like breakfasts 
without forks. After that meals became even more 
simple, and later it began to be doubtful in Mrs. Chiv- 
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erley’s mind whether or not the clock, if it had a 
conscience-wheel anywhere among its works, ought 
to strike at all at meal-times. 

This state of affairs had continued for some weeks, 
when one day a visitor came into the studio in search 
of water-colors. He was a gentleman who had a good 
knowledge of art, and but little money. He wanted 
something bright, effective, and cheap, and he had 
been going from studio to studio, exciting budding 
hopes in the hearts of poor artists, and then frost-biting 
them by leaving and buying nothing. 

Mr. Chiverley, with a cheerful alacrity which he 
endeavored not to make too strongly marked, exhibited 
to the visitor the water-color sketches in his portfolio 
or fastened against the wall. 

In a corner of the room, in a good light, sat Mrs. 
Chiverley on a high chair, her feet on the lower round. 
She was busily painting on a very small landscape in 
which there were a good many houses. She thought 
it her duty to give all her available time to painting, 
because it was not right to be idle. She used small 
canvases because they were cheaper, and she liked to 
put in houses because they suggested more than trees 
or the ordinary features of a landscape. Almost any- 
thing might be happening in a house. 

As the visitor walked about the studio Mrs. Chiver- 
ley did not look up from her work, nor speak 5 but as 
she assiduously touched a chimney in the same place 
with the same color over and over again, she listened 
with all her ears. When the gentleman stopped before 
a picture, speaking of its good points with apparent 
appreciation— for Mr. Chiverley’s pictures had good 
points— her spirits would rise and her imagination 
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would begin to play. There arose before her in turn 
the vision of a receipted landlord’s bill, of something 
really good for dinner, of a fresh credit opened at the 
artists’ material shop, and once, when the gentleman 
stopped before an oil-painting,— for although she did 
not turn her head, she watched him carefully from the 
corners of her eyes,— there came up before her a mental 
picture of a nook in the Adirondacks, with mountain, 
stream, lake, forest, and clear blue sky, all smiling 
with sunlit pleasure at being able to furnish such beau- 
tiful back, middle, and fore grounds to Mr. Chiverley. 

But the gentleman found nothing which would suit 
him. Mr. Chiverley had no bright little sketches, no 
dashes of inspiration. His pictures were generally 
large and carefully finished, and although he would 
have gladly parted with some of them for a very small 
price, had it been offered him, his visitor had a con- 
science and would not offer a comparative trifle for a 
picture that was worth a great deal more, if it were 
worth anything, and if he paid more than a com- 
parative trifle, he would like something that pleased 
him better. Mr. Chiverley’s work did not attract him. 

As he moved toward the door he stopped. “That is 
a beautiful clock, sir,” he said. “How, that is a clock 
worth having!” And he stood before it in silent 
admiration. 

Mr. Chiverley turned toward the window and looked 
out at the sky. “We don’t deal in clocks,” he said, 
“but if that bit of old furniture pleases you—” 

Mrs. Chiverley still sat on the high chair with her 
feet on the round, and in her hand she still held her 
brush, but the houses and the chimneys and the trees 
and the little bushes were all getting mixed up in 
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a sort of gray mist. At this moment she spoke 
clearly and firmly, without turning her head. “That 
clock is not for sale/’ she said. 

The gentleman now bowed and took his leave, and 
Mr. Chiverley accompanied him to the top of the stairs. 
In a few moments he returned. His wife had stopped 
painting and had pushed back her chair. 

“Were you saying anything more to him about the 
clock?” she asked quickly. 

“I merely asked him his address,” said Mr. Chiver- 
ley, as he took his seat before his easel and commenced 
work. “Some day we may have something which will 
suit him, and we should always get the address of 
a possible customer. And now, my dear, let us go 
bravely to work again. I want you to come and sit 
for the head of this peasant woman who is standing 
upon the bridge.” 

Mrs. Chiverley said nothing, but went and took her 
accustomed seat in the chair by her husband’s easel. 
When he turned toward her, the hand which held his 
brush dropped upon his knee, and he sat up straight. 
Her eyes were full of tears, and there was an expression 
upon her face which never before had he seen there. 
It was the face of a lovely woman who had borne up 
courageously against misfortune, but who now was on 
the point of breaking down. Chiverley gazed at her 
steadfastly. She did not notice that he was not work- 
ing, and waited until he should speak to her in regard 
to her position. 

Harry Chiverley quietly arose. He took from his 
easel his unfinished painting, and placed thereon a 
fresh canvas. Then, gently asking his wife to turn her 
face toward him, he began rapidly to paint her head, 
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life-size. She looked in his direction, but did not see 
him. There were tears upon her cheek, and she was 
about to wipe them away. 

“Don’t raise your hand, my dear,” he said. “They 
do not interfere in the least.” 

“Do you really think we shall have to sell the 
clock ? ” she said, in a low voice a good deal broken. 
“It is one of the family.” 

Now, as Harry Chiverley looked upon his wife, his 
feelings had been wound up to such a pitch that he 
would have sold one of his legs as willingly as that 
clock. His heart beat fast and his brush moved 
quickly as he said : “But yon know, my dear, we must 
sell something or we cannot live ! The clock is very 
dear to us ; it is a real and a true friend $ but it is 
worth a good deal of money, and perhaps we ought to 
sell it.” 

This was the first really cruel thing that Harry 
Chiverley had ever said to his wife, and it deepened 
the pain upon her face and brought more tears into 
her sorrowing, tender eyes. Had she spoken she 
would have burst into weeping. Harry Chiverley 
could never have imagined such loveliness infused by 
grief, but he could paint it when he saw it. And 
paint it he did, faster and with more earnest fervor 
than ever before. She sat looking at him without 
seeing him, and thinking he was painting the peasant 
woman upon the bridge. Each moment it seemed as 
if she would throw herself upon her husband’s bosom 
and weep her heart out. It was not only the clock, 
it was everything. She knew they had no right to 
anything ! 

Mr. Chiverley’s eyes flashed from her to the canvas. 

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He painted faster than ever. Presently he sprang to 
his feet. Without dropping his brush, his palette, or 
his maul-stick, he fell on his knees before his wife and 
folded her in his arms. 

“Darling ! ” he cried. “We shall not sell the clock ! 
We shall sell that picture ! ” 

“They never did buy them,” sobbed his wife, her 
face upon his shoulder. “There are already three of 
them with the woman and the bridge.” 

“Angel! Exalted being!” he cried. “Queen of 
clocks, studios, and the whole world ! Look at that ! ” 
pointing to the easel with his brush. “When I have 
put in the hair and the drapery and the background, 
that will be the picture which shall lift us out of 
every trouble.” 

“It is in enough trouble itself,” she said, coming 
round to the easel and wiping her eyes. “I do believe 
it is intended for me ! ” 

“Dearest ! ” exclaimed Mr. Chiverley, “I have 
traded upon your sorrow. Out of your grief I shall 
bring you joy. I never had such a model before ! 
That picture will sell ! ” 

“Do you mean to say,” she said, “that you spoke as 
you did to make me look that way?” 

“Hot to make you look so,” he answered, “only to 
keep you so until I caught the angelic woe. And 
now,” he cried, as he sat down before the canvas, “for 
joy, peace, rapture ! ” 

“Beef and butter,” added his wife, with a slight but 
hopeful smile upon her face. She could see that, if he 
did not spoil it by working on it too much, this would 
be the best picture her husband had ever painted. 

Until dusk of the long day Harry Chiverley painted, 
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and early the next morning and all that day he was 
at it again, and on the next day it was finished. He 
would have liked to work a little more upon the face, 
but he was afraid to do it without a model, and his wife 
earnestly entreated him not to touch it. As she looked 
upon her face, shadowed by grief, but illumined by 
the faint light of her expiring courage, she felt almost 
happy. This was a good picture. If Mr. Chiverley 
could find models with spirit, vim, snap, sparkle al- 
ready in them he would succeed, but he could not 
supply these things himself. 

This picture was very soon sold to a dealer for a 
moderately good price, which, however, would have 
been larger had the reputation of the artist been pro- 
portionate to the merit of the picture. 

“ Angel of my heart ! ” cried Harry Chiverley, as he 
skipped around his studio, waving a check over his 
head. “Happiness dawns ! Joy blossoms ! My true 
artistic career has begun ! ” 

And, like the good, industrious man that he was, he 
sat down to work at the woman on the bridge. 

The meals of the Chiverleys now became regular 
breakfasts, luncheons, and dinners, the receipted 
landlord’s bill was a reality, not a vision, and the clock 
spoke out the hours and half-hours in a voice that 
assured them he was there and intended to stay. 

But, notwithstanding this improvement in their 
circumstances, the Chiverleys did not feel that they 
were able to go into the country that summer. The 
past demanded so much of their little hoard that the 
future must be content with less than its proper share. 
They, therefore, bravely made up their minds to stay 
in town and be as happy as the thousands of other good 
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people who had to do the same thing. There was a 
fine circulation of air in the studio when all the win- 
dows were open, and Mr. Chiverley sat in this breezy 
coolness and painted, from old sketches and farm 
memory, landscapes which were like fashion-plates for 
the use of Dame Nature. If she wanted to know the 
latest shapes in mountains or the newest autumnal 
colors in trees or reflections, there she had them. 

In these long, summer days Mrs. Chiverley liked to 
place her easel where she could look through their 
little bedchamber and out of its open western win- 
dow. Opposite this window, on the other side of the 
street, was a large room at the top of a tall building 
in which men worked in wood, apparently making 
boxes. At the back of this room was a western window, 
and when this was open Mrs. Chiverley could look 
straight through the shop, and far, far away, she could 
catch a glimpse of the Palisades and the New Jersey 
hills on the other side of the Hudson. There she could 
see the dim outline of trees against the sky, and it often 
pleased her to take little rests and to lean back in her 
chair and let her fancy go out of her chamber window 
and through the box-maker’s shop to that far-off 
bit of real country. She knew there were pleasant 
shades beneath the trees, and that not far away there 
must be a house, most likely a true little farm-house, 
with great oaks about it, and white hens pecking in the 
green grass ; and, beyond that, long, meadowy slopes 
with gray fences, and a winding lane which led into a 
wood, where there was a stream and rocks and deeply 
shaded spots. From day to day these quiet scenes 
became more real and familiar to her, until she could 
have told you what kinds of wild flowers grew by the 
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side of the winding lane, and where you could find 
the pleasantest rocks on which to sit and sketch. She 
was always sorry when the sun got so far round to the 
west that one of the workmen pulled down the shade 
of the back window and shut out her summer day in 
the country. 

The money for the sold picture had nearly ebbed 
itself away, and the Chiverleys were again feeling very 
poor, though still brave and cheery, when Ardis Clav- 
erden’s letter came, stating that she was about to pay 
them a visit. 

“ There is something so oddly absurd in our having 
a visitor at this time/’ said Mr. Chiverley, “that I feel 
inclined to laugh at it. But of course she must come. 
It would go hard with me after reading that letter, 
and remembering how we have been entertained at 
Bald Hill, to telegraph to her that we could not have 
her. But I do wish that she had planned to visit us 
in palmier days.” 

“But we must not think of that,” said Mrs. Chiver- 
ley, “and if I were you I would go and telegraph to 
her that we shall be too glad to have her.” 

“That will cost something,” said her husband, “and 
it is not really necessary.” 

“Don’t think of that,” she said. “It will be much 
more cordial to let her hear that we expect her than 
to let her imagine so from not hearing.” 

“But what are we going to do with her ? ” said Mr. 
Chiverley. 

“We must settle that after you have telegraphed,” 
answered his wife. 


232 


I 


CHAPTER XXIII 

The day on which Ardis Claverden was expected was 
a very busy one for the Chiverleys. Painting was en- 
tirely set aside, and although this was a thing to which 
they were very much opposed, being systematic as 
well as industrious workers, they decided that under 
the circumstances it was reasonable to allow themselves 
this break in their ordinary routine, and in fact, they 
both very much enjoyed it. The rooms were cleaned, 
dusted, and “spruced up,” the pictures in which Ardis 
was likely to take interest were brought to the front, 
and the brasses of the clock were freshly polished. 
Their own chamber was prepared for the visitor, 
while their sleeping quarters were established in the 
screened-off corner of the studio which had been used 
as the guest-room on occasions when some artist friend 
from the country happened to spend the night with 
them. They had expected to make this present ar- 
rangement when they first invited Ardis to visit them, 
and it was not in relation to the guest-room that Mr. 
Chiverley had asked, “What are we going to do with 
her? ” 

“It seems to me,” said Mrs. Chiverley, when every- 
thing she could think of doing had been done, “that 
Ardis ought to find herself comfortable here. To be 
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sure, everything is very different from what she is 
accustomed to at Bald Hill, but I believe she will like 
that. It would be stupid enough if we always found 
abroad just the sort of thing we are accustomed to at 
home.” 

“If it is difference she wants,” said Mr. Chiverley, 
“she can find it here to her heart’s content. I am not 
sure, however, that her craving for variety will be 
appeased by the nondescript meals which are served 
up in this studio.” 

“If they should be good nondescript meals they will 
suit her very well,” said Mrs. Chiverley, “but what 
they are going to be I am sure I do not know. But 
we must do our best, and at all events I am very glad 
that we did not telegraph to her not to come.” 

“And your consort is equally so,” said Mr. Chiver- 
ley. “And let us not grieve over the subject of re- 
freshments. Hitherto our custom has been to divide 
what we have by two ; let us divide it by three, and 
the thing is settled.” 

The husband and wife had scarcely shaken hands 
over this settlement when there was a knock at the 
door, and in a moment Ardis was with them. She was 
alone, for she had insisted upon parting with the ex- 
governor at the street door, and she had arrived an 
hour before she was expected. But had she come in the 
midst of their cleaning and polishing, the Chiverleys 
would have given her the warmest and wildest of wel- 
comes. The weather was cold, and she wore furs. The 
Chiverleys had never seen her in furs, and she dawned 
upon them with a new beauty. And Ardis was as de- 
lighted to be there as they were to have her. Before 
she took off a single wrap she walked around the studio 
234 


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and looked at every picture, and when she was intro- 
duced to the clock she declared she would shake hands 
with it. But Mr. Chiverley was of the opinion that 
such an act of condescension would either make the 
clock too forward, or humble it by giving it a sudden 
set-back. 

“That is not a very good joke,” he said, “but the 
clock and Mrs. Chiverley are used to that sort of thing, 
and I hope you will not mind.” 

“Mind ! ” cried Ardis. “I have heard you make a 
great many worse ones at Bald Hill.” 

The evening was a lively one. Ardis was in her 
gayest spirits, and delighted the souls of the Chiverleys 
with bright bits of news from Bald Hill and anecdotes 
of the negroes. Bald Hill was the king of homes to 
the Chiverleys, and they knew all the negroes, and had 
sketched most of them. When the clock with twelve 
firm but kindly strokes told them it was time that they 
all should be in bed, they were amazed at the lateness 
of the hour. 

The next morning, after breakfast, Ardis sat at Mrs. 
Chiverley’s little desk writing to her father. The 
letter seemed to require a good deal of consideration, 
for she frequently leaned back in her chair, the pen 
idle in her hand, and her eyes fixed upon the picture 
which happened to hang in front of her. But the 
letter required no thought whatever, and she did not 
notice the picture. She was thinking about the 
Chiverleys. 

She was surprised to find her friends so poor. She 
had known that their style of living was more artistic 
and picturesque than domestic, but she had not im- 
agined that it was associated in any degree with dep- 
235 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


rivation. But now she saw that this was the case. 
They offered no excuses or apologies, and, indeed, 
supposed the little shifts they made for the benefit 
of their visitor would be unnoticed by her. Ardis, 
however, had taken but two meals with them when it 
became perfectly plain to her that they had been 
denying themselves in order that she might have 
enough. Mr. Chiverley had gayly told her that he 
seldom sold any pictures, and had spoken of the slow 
way in which scholars came in. It was evident they 
were very poor, and that she ought not to impose 
another burden upon them. 

But she did not wish to leave these friends. She 
had planned to make them a good visit. She enjoyed 
their society, and desired with them to become better 
acquainted with the art and the life of the metropolis. 
She knew, furthermore, that it pleased these good 
people to have her with them. 

It would be easy enough to better their circum- 
stances. If Mr. Chiverley should sell a picture, a period 
of ease would arrive to the simple life of their house- 
hold. Ardis could well afford to buy a picture, and 
she would be glad to do it. She was aware of the 
limitations of Mr. Chiverley’ s art, but there were some 
of his pictures which possessed a peculiar value to her, 
for they were from studies made at Bald Hill. But 
she was conscious that it would never do for her, at 
this time, to offer to buy a picture. Her hosts would 
be sure to know why she did it. And if she went away 
they would also see her motive, and their sensitive 
spirits would be wounded. 

An idea came to her. She considered it a few mo- 
ments, and then hastily finished her letter to her 
236 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


father. She now wrote a note to ex- Governor Upton, 
in which she desired him, as soon as possible after three 
o’clock that afternoon, to come to the studio of Mr. 
Chiverley, of which she gave the address, and to look 
at his paintings. Among the few framed pictures 
he would see one, hanging in a conspicuous position, 
which represented her studio at Bald Hill, with Uncle 
Shad and the ox-cart near by. He could not fail to 
recognize it, as the details were so faithfully given. 
This picture she desired him to buy at whatever price 
the artist might set upon it. As soon as possible she 
would see him, reimburse his expenditure, and explain 
the proceeding. She directed this note to the ex- 
governor’s hotel j and, declining Mr. Chiverley’s offer 
to post her letters, she went out, put her father’s in 
a letter-box, and sent that for the ex-governor by a 
messenger. 

Soon after luncheon Ardis carried off Mrs. Chiverley 
on a pilgrimage among the shops. She did not in the 
least mind taking her hostess from her work ; the little 
lady was benefited, and art did not suffer. Mr. Chiv- 
erley, of course, remained at home, for it would never 
do for them both to go out in the daytime and lock 
up the studio. And it was very well that he thus 
attended to his interests, for about ten minutes past 
three o’clock he had a visitor. This was an elderly 
gentleman of tall and portly figure and urbane and 
gracious manner. The moment he entered the studio 
there was a general blossoming of hopes in the heart of 
Mr. Chiverley. This man looked as if he meant busi- 
ness, and he was a stranger. When Mr. Chiverley 
sold any of his works, it was always to a stranger. 

“My name, sir,” said the visitor, “is Upton, and this, 
237 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


I presume, is Mr. Chiverley.” And lie extended his 
hand. “As a friend of the Claverden family, I am 
happy to know you, sir. I have been requested by 
Miss Ardis Claverden, who is visiting you, and who I 
imagine is not within doors on this beautiful day, to call 
upon you, sir, and purchase a certain painting which 
she described to me in a note she sent me this morning, 
and which I think I can identify without difficulty.’ 7 
And putting on his eye-glasses, he began to walk 
about the room and look at the pictures. 

“Miss Claverden asked you to come here and buy a 
picture ? ” exclaimed Mr. Chiverley. 

“Yes, sir,” said the ex-governor. “The scene of it 
is laid at Bald Hill, and I think I shall be able to point 
it out to you in a few minutes.” 

Harry Chiverley stood silent. This gentleman had 
been requested by Ardis in a note sent this morning 
to come here and buy a picture ! The whole affair 
was as easy to see through as the Venetian goblet at 
which he was vacantly gazing. Their guest had been 
able to perceive thus soon that they were really not 
able to entertain her, and she had taken this method 
of assisting them. In one way it was a legitimate 
method, for it was his business to sell pictures, and it 
was but a friendly act to get him a customer ; but Mr. 
Chiverley did not doubt in the least that Ardis Claver- 
den intended to pay for this picture herself. She 
might want it, perhaps, but, for all that, it was an act 
of charity. Had she not believed it would be so con- 
sidered, she would not have thought it necessary to 
employ an agent in its purchase. 

Ex-Governor Upton’s manner of examining pictures 
was very slow and deliberate, and it gave the artist 
238 


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plenty of time to think. The announcement made by 
his visitor had come upon him like a dash of iced 
water, but now the reaction began to set in, and the 
chill of the charity was gradually succeeded by a glow 
of grateful admiration for the kind-hearted girl who 
had thought of doing this thing. He knew that she 
had intended it as a most delicate act of friendship, 
and that in doing her errand this elderly gentleman 
had bungled. 

Mr. Chiverley was so sure that this conclusion was 
correct that he stepped up to the ex-governor and 
said : “I think I can show you the painting you are 
looking for, sir, but before doing so, let me ask you if 
Miss Claverden, in her note to you, requested that her 
name should not be brought into this transaction.” 

Mr. Upton turned suddenly and gazed fixedly at the 
artist, then he put his hand in the side pocket of his 
coat and drew out a note. “I brought this with me, 
sir,” he said, “on account of the address. I will look 
at it.” 

He did look at it. He read it through. Then he 
turned it over, and found some lines written at the top 
of the first page. These lines read thus : “Please do 
not let Mr. Chiverley imagine I sent you. Indeed, I 
should like him to think you never heard of me.” 

“Upon my word ! ” exclaimed the ex-governor. 
“This injunction, placed in a most conspicuous posi- 
tion, entirely escaped my notice. I am accustomed to 
find nothing but an address and a date at the top of a 
letter, and so left this unread. I declare, sir, I am 
afraid I have put my foot into it ! ” 

“Honestly speaking,” said Mr. Chiverley, “I think 
that is what you have done, sir.” 

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“What can I say, sir,” cried the ex-governor, “to 
express my dismay and distress at this unfortunate 
occurrence? I see now that the young lady desired 
me to come here as a stranger and buy the picture.” 

“That is exactly what she intended,” said Mr. Chiv- 
erley, “and now, sir, the only thing we can do is to 
keep to ourselves all knowledge of this mistake. It 
would sorely wound Miss Claverden should she know 
what has happened. I will accept the situation. I 
know that she likes this picture, and my pictures are 
for sale. I know also that she buys it at this time 
because she knows that my circumstances are not 
flourishing. But I much prefer to be humiliated than 
that our warm-hearted young friend should suspect a 
jot of what has happened.” 

“Sir,” said the ex-governor, stretching out his hand, 
“you are a gentleman to the backbone ! This most 
unfortunate outcome of my mission is due entirely to 
my own stupidity. I offer you my most humble apol- 
ogies, and I entirely agree with you that nothing 
should be said of my inexcusable blunder, and that 
we should proceed with the business as Miss Claverden 
intended.” 

“Very good,” said Mr. Chiverley, endeavoring to 
throw something of his ordinary good humor into his 
manner. “And don’t make apologies, I beg of you, sir. 
We will drop all that, and look at this thing as the 
straightforward piece of business it was intended to 
be. This is the picture you are looking for.” 

The ex-governor took off his eye-glasses, wiped them, 
put them on again, and stepped up to the painting 
indicated. “Yes, sir,” he said, after looking at it at- 
tentively, “you are right. Here is Miss Claverden’s 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


studio, here is the negro man with his team of oxen 
and his wagon, and here is the very grass that grows 
about the mansion of Bald Hill. It is an admirable 
picture, sir— most admirable ! I do not wonder that 
Miss Claverden desires to have it ! And now, sir, 
what is the price you ask for this work of art? ” 

Without hesitation Mr. Chiverley mentioned the 
price he would have asked of any ordinary buyer, and 
the ex-governor drew out his pocket-book and paid 
the money. 

Anxious that the painting should leave the studio 
before the return of Ardis, Mr. Upton sent for a mes- 
senger and had the picture carried to his hotel. “It 
shall hang in my room, sir,” he said, “while I remain 
in Hew York ; and when I leave, it shall be boxed and 
sent to its destination.” 

Mr. Chiverley laughed. “How,” he said, “it almost 
seems as if you were really the purchaser of the pic- 
ture.” 

“That is the way to look at it,” said the ex-governor. 
“It was intended we should so look at it, and we should 
do it. All the rest should be blotted from our recol- 
lection. I bid you good day, sir, and I am very glad 
indeed to have made your acquaintance.” 

When the two ladies returned, they found Harry 
Chiverley sitting on a high stool in the middle of the 
room, his arms folded, and on his head a tall silk hat. 

“You must excuse this hat,” he said, addressing 
Ardis. “It is not my custom to wear it, especially in 
the house. But, as Mrs. Chiverley knows, I always put 
it on when I have sold a picture.” 

“Sold a picture ! ” cried his wife, while Ardis turned 
around to lay her hat upon a table. 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“Yes, ladies/’ Mr. Chiverley said, still sitting upon 
liis stool, “I have to announce that during your ab- 
sence I have sold one of the works of art which formerly 
adorned this gallery. You had been gone perhaps an 
hour when a fine old gentleman, all of the olden time, 
—I know he was Southern from his intonation,— came 
in and asked to look over my pictures. He seemed to 
be endowed with a remarkable appreciation of art. 
As a proof of this he bought one of my paintings. As 
might have been expected, he chose a Southern sub- 
ject— and, by the way, it was one of the Bald Hill 
pictures.” 

During this address Mr. Chiverley kept his chin 
well up in the air, with the manner of a man whose 
worth has been duly recognized, occasionally glancing 
from one lady to the other, but addressing his remarks 
impartially to the space between them. 

Ardis bore the ordeal well. Her face was somewhat 
flushed, but it could be considered no more than natu- 
ral that she should thus show her pleasure at the good 
fortune of her friends. 

Mrs. Chiverley was in a tremor of delight. “What 
was his name ? ” she cried. “Who was he f ” 

“Would you believe it,” said Mr. Chiverley, sud- 
denly bringing down his chin, “I never asked him ! 
And, what is more, he had a messenger called, and sent 
the picture off to his hotel.” 

“That was very considerate of good Mr. Upton,” 
thought Ardis. “He certainly managed the matter 
well ! It was most prudent in him not to give his 
name ! ” 

“Oh, I am so sorry you did not get his name ! ” cried 
Mrs. Chiverley. “Every picture sold should be 
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en- 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

tered in a book, with the name of the purchaser and 
all particulars. You might want to trace it.” 

“ Bless your soul!” cried Mr. Chiverley, jumping 
down from the stool and taking off his hat, “I would 
much rather paint another picture than trace that one ! 
And now, madam, I am going out on some business. 
Is there anything I can do for you ? ” 

There were a great many things he could do for her, 
and when Ardis had gone to her room, Mrs. Chiverley 
mentioned some of these, and poured out her joy mean- 
while. “Nothing more fortunate could happen to two 
deserving people,” she said. “To think that we should 
sell a picture at this moment ! Ardis must wonder 
that we are so full of delight, but she cannot appreciate 
what a momentous thing it is for us to sell a picture ! 
And what did you get for it? ” 

When Mr. Chiverley told her she threw her arms 
round his neck and kissed him. 

“Thanks ! ” he said. “There is no better way of 
stamping a transaction with approval. And now, my 
dear, what shall I get for dinner? It must be some- 
thing jolly, already cooked.” 


243 


CHAPTER XXIV 

The little family at the studio was now a very happy 
one. Mrs. Chiverley bloomed like a June rose in the 
warmth and light of pecuniary sufficiency, and Mr. 
Chiverley, having eased his mind by the decision that 
this money which had come from Ardis should be 
used, as far as possible, for her benefit, allowed his 
spirits to rise as high as they pleased, and being used 
to lofty flights, they arose to a great altitude and stayed 
there. What his wife sometimes gently alluded to as 
super-hospitality he considered strict justice, and they 
lived merrily. 

Ardis, too, was happy. What she had done, and its 
effects upon her friends, had, of course, a gladdening 
influence upon her. And, besides that, she greatly 
enjoyed her life in New York. With one or the other 
of her friends in the daytime, and with both of them 
at night, she visited studios and art exhibitions, and 
many interesting places besides. And as for society, 
they had all that they wanted, for both she and the 
Chiverleys had friends among the best people in New 
York. 

In regard to Roger Dunworth and his relations to 
her, her mind had now grown to be at ease. When 
he came home he would find out that he had made a 


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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


terrible mistake about Mr. Surrey, and if be did not 
find out this for himself, sbe was quite sure that both 
Norma and Dr. Lester would belp bim to tbe discovery. 
Then, when be spoke again,— and sbe did not in tbe 
least doubt be would speak again,— sbe would bave ber 
answer ready. There was no reason for impatience 
if there should be a certain delay in tbe settlement of 
this matter between Roger and herself. Sbe hoped be 
would take plenty of time, after bis return, to fully 
satisfy bis mind concerning bis mistake. Then, and 
not before, would be bave a right to speak. 

Ardis bad been with tbe Cbiverleys about a month 
when, one afternoon, on ber return from a walk with 
Mrs. Cbiverley, sbe found a letter from Dr. Lester. It 
was a long letter, and sbe took it into ber room and 
sat down to read it. 

Tbe doctor began by saying that be bad hesitated 
a good deal before writing this letter, but as be bad 
promised be would give ber all tbe information in 
regard to Roger Dunworth that be himself should 
receive, be felt it bis duty to keep bis promise, be bis 
news good or bad. He bad received a letter from 
Roger Dunworth which was a strictly business epistle 
and related to tbe forwarding of money to tbe writer 
at Atlanta, toward which city tbe doctor supposed 
bim to be making bis way. Breeville, tbe village 
where this letter was written, bad probably infrequent 
mails, for Roger’s letter bad lain for some days in tbe 
post-office ; and tbe postmaster bad written a message 
on tbe back of it to tbe effect that tbe young man who 
bad posted tbe letter bad got into trouble, and that, 
if be bad any friends, some of them ought to come 
down and see about bim. Tbe doctor’s impulse bad 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


been to start instantly for the place himself, but as this 
was not practicable, he had telegraphed to the station 
nearest Breeville, to which village his message had 
been forwarded, asking the postmaster for full particu- 
lars of Roger’s difficulties. 

He had now a letter from said postmaster, in which 
he stated that Mr. Dunworth had been at that place 
for about a week, riding around the country all day in 
an apparently aimless manner, and returning to the 
tavern at night. This method of action had excited 
the suspicions of the neighbors, for a band of horse- 
thieves had recently come into that part of the coun- 
try, and it was supposed that this shabbily dressed 
stranger, mounted upon a remarkably fine horse, might 
be a confederate of these men, and that his trips about 
the country were for the purpose of collecting informa- 
tion. Soon after this matter began to be talked about, 
a valuable horse was stolen from a farm about ten miles 
from Breeville, toward which Dunworth had been seen 
riding the day before. The depredations of the horse- 
thieves had become so daring that a vigilance com- 
mittee had been formed in the county to capture and 
make short work of them. The postmaster added that 
Dunworth had evidently found out that suspicion had 
been directed against him, for he had gone off, nobody 
knew where. This flight had made the committee 
feel sure he was guilty, and they were now in pursuit 
of him, and, if caught, it would probably go hard with 
him. 

Dr. Lester wrote that he had not mentioned the 
matter to Major Claverden, for, if he should know of 
Roger’s trouble, he would start off for Georgia imme- 
diately, and the doctor did not think that Ardis’s father 
246 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


should be allowed to encounter the hardships, priva- 
tions, and perhaps dangers, which such a journey would 
entail, without her knowledge and consent. 

“I am trying to arrange matters/’ the doctor said, 
in conclusion, “so that I may go down there very soon. 
I hope to hear from you before I start.” 

At the bottom of the letter was a postscript in pencil : 
“Have just received a telegram from the Breeville 
postmaster. He says : ‘Not caught yet. I will stand 
by him, if possible.’ ” 

For ten minutes after finishing reading the letter, 
Ardis sat steadily looking at it. Then she got up, and 
stepping quickly into the studio, put on her wrap, 
which she had thrown over a chair when she came in. 

“Going out ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Chiverley. 

“Yes,” said Ardis. “My letter requires an imme- 
diate answer. I am going to the telegraph office.” 

“Let me attend to that for you,” said Mr. Chiverley, 
rising. 

“Oh, no, thank you,” replied Ardis. “I shall be 
back in five minutes.” 

When Ardis left the studio she had not yet com- 
posed her telegram, but before she reached the office it 
was prepared. It was to Dr. Lester, and ran thus : 
* ‘ Do not start South. Meet me at W oodbridge Station, 
Wednesday, 15th, afternoon. A.” 

When she came back the studio was lighted, and Mr. 
and Mrs. Chiverley were in a state of anxious solici- 
tude. 

“Has anything happened?” cried the latter. 
“Ardis, you are looking positively pale.” 

“Dear friends,” said Ardis, “after dinner I will tell 
you everything. There is no bad news from Bald 
247 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Hill, but I have heard something which demands 
instant consideration.” 

“I hope it is nothing that will take her away from 
ns,” said Mrs. Chiverley, when Ardis had gone to her 
room. And in this wish her husband most earnestly 
joined her. It would have destroyed their appetite 
for dinner if they could have read the telegram Ardis 
had sent. 

The meal was a quiet one, and when it was over the 
three friends took their usual seats by the studio fire. 

“I did not want to say one word,” said Ardis, “until 
I had fully settled in my own mind certain important 
matters which have been suddenly brought before me. 
It is so much easier to talk about a thing when you 
have determined what you are going to do.” And 
then she told them all that Hr. Lester had written. 

Her hearers were shocked. They both knew Roger 
Hunworth, and liked him much, and the terrible 
danger that hung over him, or had perhaps already 
overtaken him, would have greatly affected them, 
even if they had not seen that Ardis was so deeply 
interested. 

“What ought to be done? Is there anything that 
can be done?” cried Mrs. Chiverley. 

“Some of his friends must go to him,” said Ardis, 
“vouch for him, and support him. An utter stranger 
in that wild country, he has no chance at all by him- 
self.” 

“What friends?” gasped Mrs. Chiverley. 

“Myself, for one,” said Ardis. 

“I thought so ! I was afraid of it ! ” cried Mrs. 
Chiverley, bursting into tears. “ Oh, Ardis, dear Ardis, 
don’t think of it ! Don’t dream of it ! It will be ter- 


248 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


rible ! It will not be right. It is not to be thought 
of that yon should go down there.” 

“By no means,” said Mr. Chiverley. “You do not 
know the dangers of such an undertaking. And be- 
sides, my dear girl, I am bound to say to you that 
nothing you could do in that way would be likely to 
be of any avail. Whatever danger threatens Roger 
would most likely overtake him long before you could 
get to him.” 

“Oh, I have thought of that ! I have thought of 
that ! ” said Ardis. “And I have considered every 
possible thing that could be done for Roger. A certifi- 
cate of character could be sent to the postmaster who 
is interested in him, but Roger is far away from Bree- 
ville now, and I doubt if such a paper can be of any 
use ; and what Dr. Lester has already written ought 
to be sufficient, if his letter could be made use of. But 
no trust can be put in this, and we must go down to 
him.” 

“We ! Who?” exclaimed Mrs. Chiverley. 

“I, for one,” said Ardis. “It will be perfectly useless 
to try to dissuade me. I could not stay here and feel 
that people were making mistakes, or giving up when 
they should go on and on and on ! If I can’t do 
things, I can see that things are done. Dr. Lester will 
go with me, I am sure. But he is not enough — I want 
a lady with me. I want you two to go. Don’t look 
so amazed ! Don’t say a thing until I have explained ! 
It will be a very good thing for you to go South 
this time of the year, and you have had no vacation. 
I must pay all expenses, because it is my affair. Oh, 
my dear friends, I do so want you to go with me ! ” 
And she laid a hand upon each of them. 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“ Go ? Of course we will go ! ’ : ’ sobbed Mrs. Chiverley. 

“My dear Ardis,” said Mr. Chiverley, and although 
he did not sob, his voice was husky, “we would go to 
the ends of the earth with you, if our going could be 
of the least benefit ; but I do not think that a journey 
to Georgia by us three will be of any use whatever. 
What is done should be done promptly and instantly. 
It is a long journey, and after we were there it might 
be a good while before we would know what to do, or 
could do it. And, besides, this sort of thing will prob- 
ably cost more than you suppose ; and, although we 
would not think for an instant of expense at such a 
time if we had the money, the fact is that we haven’t 
it, and it would not be right for you to furnish it.” 

“Please don’t talk in that way ! ” cried Ardis. 
“Those things are trifles and ought not to be con- 
sidered ! If anything can be instantly done for Roger, 
let it be done. Write, telegraph— anything ! But 
that must not interfere with our going to him ; and I 
do not believe that we shall necessarily be too late. 
Roger is quick-witted, and can ride as far and as well 
as any man, and, with the start that he has had, it will 
not be easy for the vigilance committee to come up 
with him. If he can reach Atlanta, or any large place, 
it is likely he will be lodged in jail, and perhaps that 
is the best thing that can happen to him ; and when 
we get there it will all be right. But, whatever hap- 
pens, go I must ! And you two must go with me ! 
That is what I was thinking about during dinner, and 
I fully decided it before I left the table. Don’t talk 
about money. I wouldn’t allow you to spend it, if you 
had it. That is a thing of no account.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Chiverley looked at each other. “All 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


right, Ardis ! ” said Harry Chiverley. “We will stand 
by you, and we will do whatever you say. You shall 
never think that misfortune came to you because these 
two friends failed you. Now, what is to be done? 
And when ? ” 

“I have telegraphed Dr. Lester,” said Ardis, “that 
I shall be at Woodbridge Station to-morrow afternoon.” 

“Woodbridge Station?” repeated both the Chiver- 
leys. 

“Yes,” said Ardis. “That is a railroad station about 
six miles this side of Bolton. And now I will explain 
to you the whole of my plan. I do not wish my father 
to know anything of this expedition. In the first place, 
it would worry him dreadfully, and in the second place, 
he would insist upon going with us ; and most posi- 
tively that must not be. The one thing father has to 
avoid is exposure in the winter-time. I shall write 
to him that I have gone on a short tour with you to 
the South, and that we shall stop at Bolton on our 
return. I must see Dr. Lester. And he lives not 
much farther from Woodbridge than from Bolton. I 
wish to pass through Bolton unobserved, and if the 
doctor should meet me there it might attract atten- 
tion. It would never do for my father to know that 
I had passed through Bolton without stopping. I fully 
expect the doctor to go South with us, and I must 
send him another telegram to that effect.” 

“And when must we start to do all this?” asked 
Mrs. Chiverley. 

“At twelve o’clock to-night,” said Ardis, “and we 
shall reach Woodbridge to-morrow afternoon.” 

At this statement Mr. Chiverley pushed back his 
chair with a start, and Mrs. Chiverley opened her eyes 
251 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

very wide. “The dishes are not even washed ! ” she 
exclaimed. 

“My dear Mrs. Chiverley,” said Ardis, “if we do 
not start to-night we lose a whole day. And there is 
plenty of time to get ready. It is barely eight o’clock, 
and that gives us over three hours before we need 
leave this house, and that is quite time enough for 
everything.” 

“We shall have to skip around in a lively manner,” 
said Harry Chiverley, “if we expect to take a midnight 
train.” 

“I don’t think we shall have to skip much,” said 
Ardis, “if we go to work systematically. In the first 
place, I shall ask you, Mr. Chiverley, to go out and send 
a telegram for me to Hr. Lester. I want to tell him 
to meet us at Woodbridge prepared to go South with 
us. And while you are out you can buy our tickets. 
I think it will be better for us to go straight to At- 
lanta, and if Roger has not reached there when we 
arrive, we can then decide what we shall do. There 
is a hotel at Atlanta which I have heard father speak 
of, called i Hidman’s,’ and you can tell the janitor to 
forward our letters to that hotel. Please engage berths 
in a sleeping-car, and order a carriage to come for us 
at eleven. That will give us a margin, if we are not 
quite ready. While you are out Mrs. Chiverley and 
I will wash the dishes and put things generally to 
rights, and then we will all go to packing. I shall 
take my small trunk, and twenty minutes will be 
enough to pack that. Then I shall have time to write 
a letter to father, which we can post at the station.” 

“Trunk ! ” cried Mr. Chiverley. “For such an ex- 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

pedition I should think that a bundle on the end of a 
stick, or at most a small hand-bag, would be what each 
of us would want.’ 7 

“Not at all,” said Ardis. “We are going to Atlanta, 
and it may be necessary, for Roger’s sake, for us to 
make a good appearance there. So we must have 
clothes, and you and Mrs. Chiverley must take your 
sketching-things.” 

“Good ! ” said Mr. Chiverley. “And, after all, it is 
easier to pack a trunk and check it than to carry a 
bundle on a stick.” 

“And just as cheap,” said Mrs. Chiverley. 

When Mr. Chiverley returned from his errands he 
stamped his feet and shook himself outside the studio 
door before he entered. “Do you know,” said he, as 
he came in, “that it is snowing like Sam Hill! ” 

“I don’t know how Sam Hill snows,” said Ardis, 
who was busy tying up a portable easel, “but if real 
winter weather is coming on, we ought to be very glad 
that we are going South. The carriage will certainly 
come, snow or no snow, I suppose ! ” 

“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Chiverley, “there will be no 
trouble about that. But while I was out I remembered 
that there are people in this metropolis who ought to 
know of my departure. It does not do for a man of 
business like myself to vanish suddenly between two 
days without letting any one know about it.” 

“Of course not,” said Ardis, “and you can sit down 
and write notes to all of them. There is plenty of 
time, for Mrs. Chiverley and I will attend to the 
packing.” 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Chiverley, who was just entering 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


the room with an armful of miscellaneous articles. 1 1 It 
is almost done now. And I never should have sup- 
posed that I could have received notice after dinner 
that we were to close up this establishment and go 
South, and that at half-past nine we should be almost 
ready to start ! 77 

“ There is something of the lively bounce in it, even 
to me, 7 ’ said Mr. Chiverley. “And do you think, my 
dear, that it would be well to write to Stolger and tell 
him he need not hurry with that last frame I ordered ? 77 

“By no means ! 77 cried his wife. “That would be a 
very bad precedent. No matter how long we stay 
away, you may be sure the frame will not be finished 
when we get back . 77 

“I am very glad , 77 said Mr. Chiverley, when Ardis 
was not present, “that she seems to keep up her spirits 
so well . 77 

“As long as there is anything for her to do , 77 said 
Mrs. Chiverley, “her spirits will be all right. And so 
would mine be, if it were not for the fear that, no 
matter what we do, we shall be too late . 77 

“Banish such thoughts , 77 said Mr. Chiverley. “Now 
that we have enlisted in this cause, do not let us have 
a doubt about it. It is plain enough , 77 he continued, 
“that everything has been settled between these two 
young people . 77 

“Oh, yes , 77 said Mrs. Chiverley, “I have long sup- 
posed that . 77 

All preparations were made in time for the little 
party to partake of a supper, in which they endeavored 
to eat up everything that was left in the house, and 
when the trunks had been carried down, and Mrs. 
Chiverley was shutting the door behind her, she turned 
254 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


and said, “Good-by, dear clock. Don’t go on too long 
striking to yourself by day and by night.” 

And as they went down-stairs the imaginative little 
woman could hear the clock say, in clear, sonorous 
tones : “Good-by-dear-friends-the-best-of-luck-go-with- 
you ! ” 



£ 


255 


CHAPTER XXV 


When, on the next morning, the Chiverleys and Ardis 
Claverden reached Washington, they found that beau- 
tiful city as white as its monument, and the snow still 
falling. They continued their j ourney, and were much 
surprised to find the snow deeper and deeper as they 
progressed southward, so that they reached Wood- 
bridge Station two hours behind-time. 

“It has nearly stopped snowing, 1 ” said Ardis, peering 
through the window as the train slowed up, “but I am 
very much afraid Dr. Lester will not be here ! How- 
ever, I ought not to be, for he is a man to be trusted 
in any weather. Yes, there he is, buttoned up to the 
chin ! And there is Cream- o’ -Tartar, harnessed to a 
wagon. I never saw that horse in harness before.” 

The train had scarcely come to a stop before Ardis 
was out on the platform, and in a moment she was 
vigorously shaking hands with Dr. Lester. 

“Are you ready to go on with us!” she asked. 
“You received my last telegram!.” 

Instead of answering her, the doctor said : “Your 
friends are with you, I suppose ! ” 

“Yes, here they are,” said Ardis, as the Chiverleys 
appeared on the platform. 

The doctor hastily greeted them, and said : “You 
256 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


must all get off the train. Let me help yon bring out 
your hand-baggage. If you have trunks, it will be 
better to let them go on.” 

“What is the matter?” cried Ardis. “What does 
this mean?” 

“The road is blocked up beyond here. The train 
ahead of this has not been able to reach Lynchburg. 
It will be useless to stay on this train; it cannot 
proceed much farther, and there is no knowing what 
privations you may be subjected to.” 

“But what shall we do? Where shall we go?” 
exclaimed Ardis, while the Chiverleys stood in silent 
amazement. 

“I have provided for everything,” said the doctor ; 
“the point at present is to get off the train. I asked 
the station-master to detain it a few minutes.” 

The doctor’s manner was so decided that no further 
questions were asked, and the travellers, with their 
portable baggage, soon stood on the station platform. 

As the cars began slowly and laboriously to move 
on, Ardis’s troubled face was turned toward them with 
such an anxious and wistful air that it might have 
been supposed she was about to spring back upon 
them and press on, at all hazards, toward the wilder- 
ness of Georgia. “It is too bad l ” she exclaimed. “I 
believe we ought to have stayed on the train ! ” 

“No,” said the doctor. “I have had plenty of time 
to consider this matter, and I think you will soon agree 
that I have acted properly. This snow-storm came 
from the southwest, and it has been snowing in the 
mountains for forty-eight hours, and the tracks are 
entirely blocked up. I have seen telegrams from 
various points, and know that travel over this road 
257 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


cannot be resumed for a day, perhaps two, after the 
storm ceases. We shall lose no time by waiting until 
the road is open. And you need not be anxious, Miss 
Ardis, for I have had another telegram from my post- 
master, and he tells me that the committee has re- 
turned unsuccessful. The telegram ends with: ‘No 
news of your friend.’ That means, of course, good 
news.” 

“Good? Yes, perhaps it is,” said Ardis, “but we 
must get to him as soon as we can ! ” 

“Certainly, certainly,” said the doctor, “we shall do 
that. But I have a strong hope that by this time 
Roger is in Atlanta, or very near it. And when he is 
there he is safe. But unless we have direct and good 
news from him, we shall go on as soon as the road is 
open.” 

The doctor’s words brought a degree of comfort to 
Ardis. “Well,” she said, “what can’t be done can’t 
be done. But as soon as anything can be done we 
must do it. And now, may I ask, Dr. Lester, what we 
ourselves are to do ? I do not wish to go to Bald Hill.” 

“If I had had any notion of that,” said the doctor, 
“I should have allowed you to proceed to Bolton on 
the train.” 

“What I should like to do,” broke in Mr. Chiverley, 
“would be to find out if there is a fire in that little 
station. If this is your 1 sunny South,’ give me the 
shaded North.” 

By the glowing station stove Dr. Lester explained 
his plans. “I was in Bolton last night,” he said, “and 
I there became quite sure that no trains would cross 
the mountains to-day, and I therefore made arrange- 
ments to take care of you good people until you could 
258 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


go on. I would not be so cruel as to let you stay on 
the train and perhaps be snowed up at some point 
where you would be half frozen and find nothing to 
eat.” 

“And what are you going to do?” asked Ardis. 

“I am going to take you home with me,” said the 
doctor. 

At this announcement Ardis laughed, and Mr. 
Chiverley, who knew the doctor’s method of life, and 
had smoked many a pipe with him in his oddly fur- 
nished room, could not help following her example. 
Mrs. Chiverley did not think this proceeding very 
polite, but she was so pleased to see that Ardis could 
laugh that she abstained from comment. 

“You need not suppose,” said Dr. Lester, smiling, 
“that I am going to shut you up in my crowded den. 
I have prepared accommodations for you in the old 
house.” 

“Why, that was burnt long ago,” said Ardis. “I 
thought it was nothing but ruins.” 

“Ruins ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Chiverley. “Will that be 
safe ? ” 

Mr. Chiverley was delighted. “I remember that 
place,” he said. “I have sketched it from all points. 
It will be jolly to stay there ! And ruins, my dear, 
are ever so much safer than new buildings. New 
houses are continually getting destroyed in some way 
or other, but ruins last forever.” 

“What is left of the house,” said the doctor, “is 
perfectly safe, and there are two rooms in good condi- 
tion on the ground floor. But I am not going to say 
anything more about my hostelry. There is no rival 
house, and you will be obliged to go with me.” 

259 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“Go with you ! 77 said Ardis. “To be sure we will. 
And what are we to go in ? That wagon ? 77 

“Yes / 7 said the doctor. “I borrowed that spring- 
wagon of Tommy Deans, and I reckon old Cream-o 7 - 
Tartar will pull us through . 77 

“It might have been better , 77 said Mr. Chiverley, as 
he came out of the station and gazed at the wide ex- 
panse of white around him, “if you had borrowed a 
sleigh . 77 

“Sleighs are very uncommon about here , 77 said the 
doctor. “Our snows generally last so short a time that 
they would be of little use. But wheels will go through 
snow better than through deep mud, and I think we 
shall get on . 77 

The party was soon seated in the open wagon, and 
the j ourney of five or six miles was begun. They could 
not expect to travel rapidly, but the ground was frozen 
beneath the snow, and many parts of the road had been 
partially cleared by the wind, so that Cream- o 7 - Tartar 
was able to jog along at a slow trot. On the way the 
doctor further explained some of his arrangements. 

“It will be a regular picnic , 77 he said. “We shall 
have to do our own cooking, and everything. I have 
sent away the colored people who waited on me, for 
they could not be trusted to keep the secret of my 
entertaining guests. The snow frightened them, and 
they were glad enough to go away and huddle up in 
the cabins of their friends. I went to Bolton this 
morning and laid in a stock of provisions, and so I 
think we shall not suffer . 77 

“Suffer ! 77 cried Harry Chiverley. “Not to be 
thought of ! A winter picnic ! And in a ruin ! This 
is truly jolly ! Hurrah for the sunny South ! 77 

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“Is the house so burnt/’ asked Mrs. Chiverley, “that 
there can be no further fires I ” 

“Oh, no/’ said the doctor. “There is a good one 
there now, if it has not burnt, out. I will engage to 
keep you warm enough, though in other ways you 
may not be satisfied.” 

“Given food and warmth,” said Mr. Chiverley, “we 
will let everything else go.” 

It had now stopped snowing. There was but little 
wind, and, well wrapped up, the travellers enjoyed the 
keen, frosty air, and had they been bowling along in 
a sleigh with jingling bells, the trip would have been 
a delightful one. Ploughing slowly through the snow 
in an open spring- wagon was quite another thing. But 
they were all people of good courage and willing to 
accommodate themselves to their conditions. 

After a mile or two they turned into a branch road 
which ran in the direction of the doctor’s house. 
Their way now led them directly through a forest of 
oaks and chestnuts, varied at intervals by low growths 
of evergreens and tall pines. The scenes through 
which they were passing were of such rare beauty that 
the travellers broke into exclamations of delight. The 
ground was all covered with pure unbroken snow, and 
every long branch of evergreen and every tree and 
bough and trailing vine bent in graceful curves be- 
neath a heavy edging of sparkling whiteness. Lines 
of pure white beauty were all around them, crossing, 
interlacing, and standing out in delicate relief against 
the patches of blue which now appeared in the western 
sky. The sun, well down toward the horizon, shed over 
everything a pale rosy light, and tipped, besides, many 
a bending branch with frosty points of gem-like color. 

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“I have imagined fairy-land/’ said Mrs. Chiverley, 
“but now I have seen it ! ” 

Dr. Lester stopped his horse, and turning around, he 
said : “If there are any fairies who live in these woods 
in the winter, I wish they would now appear and show 
me the road. No vehicle has been this way since the 
snow fell, and, to me, any wide space between the trees 
seems as much like a road as any other space.” 

“Did you not come from your house by this road? ” 
asked Ardis. 

“No,” said the doctor, “I went from Woodbridge to 
Bolton, where I had been to get the latest news. I 
really do not know whether I ought to go to the right 
of that big oak, or to the left.” 

This information was disconcerting, and the Chiver- 
leys forgot the beauty of the scenery. 

“Why, doctor,” cried Ardis, “I thought you knew 
every foot of this country ! ” 

“So I do,” he answered, “under ordinary circum- 
stances, but a country covered with snow is a new 
thing altogether. In coming through these woods I 
have always followed the road. But where is the road 
now ? It has disappeared utterly.” 

“Perhaps we may meet some one who will show us 
the road,” said Mrs. Chiverley. 

Ardis shrugged her shoulders— she did not want to 
meet anybody ; and the doctor said : “There is not a 
house within a mile of us, nor a footprint in this snow.” 

Mr. Chiverley proposed that they should go back to 
the station— they could find the way there by their 
own tracks— and then proceed to the doctor’s house 
by the way of Bolton. 

“Oh, that would be a long, long journey,” said the 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


doctor, “and I doubt if my borse would be equal to it. 
And, besides, we do not wish to go through Bolton, do 
we, Miss Ardis 1 77 

“No, indeed ! 77 said Ardis. “And then straight past 
the Bald Hill gate ! Oh, never ! I think the very 
best thing you can do, doctor, is to let your horse find 
the road for himself. Of course he knows the way 
home, and he is more likely to keep in the road than 
to go out of it.” 

“He has been over the road often enough,” said the 
doctor, “but if he is as bewildered as I am, it is not 
likely he will remember anything about it now.” 

“Let us try him,” said Ardis. “There is nothing 
better that we can do.” 

“Very good,” said the doctor, dropping the reins 
on the dash-board. “And now, Cream-o’ -Tartar, we 
put our destinies into your hands, or, rather, your feet. 
Get up ! ” 

The horse started, and, without hesitation, passed to 
the right of the big oak-tree. 

“I believe he is on the road,” exclaimed Ardis. 
“See ! There is a perfect avenue stretching itself 
before us.” 

“Yes,” said Mr. Chiverley, turning his head from 
side to side. “And if there were not similar avenues 
extending themselves in various directions, I should 
feel certain we were on the road.” 

Dr. Lester, who was not used to driving, nor to sit- 
ting cramped up in a vehicle, now drew the gloves 
from his half-frozen fingers and put his hands in his 
pockets. If his horse would do his own driving, he 
was more than willing to let him do it. 

“This is one of my oddest experiences,” said Mr. 

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Chiverley. “To proceed through fairy-land under the 
sole guidance of a medicinal preparation is something 
to be remembered ! ” 

After a time Mrs. Chiverley said : “It begins to seem 
to me as if Cream-o’ -Tartar were wandering at random 
among the trees.” 

This remark was emphasized by Cream-o’ -Tartar 
suddenly taking a sharp turn to the right, and covering 
the party with a shower of snow from some down-bent 
evergreen branches. There was a startled scream from 
the ladies, and Dr. Lester, his eyes blinded with snow, 
shouted : “Whoa ! ” 

The horse stopped. 

“I knew it would be so ! ” cried Mrs. Chiverley. 
“If you leave him to himself he will dash us to 
pieces.” 

“I don't believe it ! ” said Ardis. “This is as much 
like a road as any other place. Let him go on, 
doctor.” 

The doctor started the horse, and on they went. 
Trees stood all about them, on either side, and even in 
front; but among these dark trunks, little and big, 
without striking one of them, Cream-o’ -Tartar slowly 
made his way. 

The sun was now low and it was beginning to be 
dusky. The doctor remarked that the moon would 
rise in a couple of hours, but this did not appear to 
comfort anybody. 

“I believe this horse has no idea where he is going, 
and is walking merely to keep himself warm,” said 
Mr. Chiverley. “I should like to get out and follow 
his example.” 

“Don't think of such a thing, Harry ! ” exclaimed 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


his wife. “You will get your feet wet and soaked and 
perhaps frozen.” 

“And cut off,” added Mr. Chiverley. “Thank you. 
I shall remain in the wagon with alacrity.” 

The responsibility of the comfort, and perhaps the 
safety, of his friends began to press upon the doctor. 
It was getting dark, and the situation was grave. 
What to do the doctor did not know. It was as well 
to let the horse go his own way as to turn him in an- 
other direction. All ways seemed equally to lead into 
the heart of the woods. 

Tears were in Mrs. Chiverley’s eyes, but she turned 
her face away from Ardis. Nothing could be more 
dreadful than fairy-land ! Even the beauty that had 
been made the present scene more terrible to her. 
There was no beauty now $ everything was cold, pale, 
spectral, and awful ! 

Even the courage of Ardis began to give way. At 
any moment their progress might be stopped. What 
could they do for a fire? What could they do for 
anything? Would it be possible for Dr. Lester to 
procure assistance? 

Cream-o 7 -Tartar now pulled the party up a slight 
ascent, and then he turned into an open space. 

“A clearing ! 77 cried Ardis. “Whose can it be ? 77 

“Clearing ! 77 exclaimed the doctor. “Do you see 
that mass of trees in front of us ? That is where I live. 
This is the highroad. Cream-o 7 -Tartar has brought 
us through, without making a mistake ! 77 

“Hurrah for the good old physic !” cried Mr. Chiv- 
erley. And, without a word, his wife fell crying upon 
Ardis’s shoulder. 


265 


CHAPTER XXVI 

“I could not have supposed/’ said Mr. Chiverley, as 
he awkwardly got down from the spring-wagon in 
front of Hr. Lester’s little house, “that my legs could 
get themselves so uncommonly stiff. The effects of 
semi-tropical air are truly wonderful ! But I thought 
you were going to take us to those ruins, doctor. Have 
you changed your mind? ” 

“Xot at all,” said Hr. Lester, who was now on the 
ground. “But you must first come in here and get 
yourselves warm.” 

The party were soon clustered around a great bed of 
embers in the fireplace. An armful of brushwood 
upon these soon made a crackling blaze, and then Hr. 
Lester left them to “thaw,” as he termed it, while he 
went over to the other house to attend to the fires 
there. 

“Hon’t forget dear old Cream-o’ -Tartar ! ” cried 
Ardis. “Give him his supper before you do anything 
else. I wish I had a pound of sugar to give him, to 
show my gratitude. But I will prove that some other 
time.” 

Cream-o’ -Tartar’s wants were soon attended to, and 
the party around the fire perceived through the win- 
dow Hr. Lester, hard at work with a big hoe, making 
266 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


a path through the snow from his door to the remains 
of the old mansion-house. 

Mr. Chiverley seized his hat. “He must not do that 
all by himself/’ said he ; and hurrying out of the door, 
with the stiffness entirely departed from his legs, 
he asked the doctor for something with which he 
could help him. 

“I could not find anything but this old hoe,” said 
the other, “but if you choose to take it, I will go in 
and build up the fires.” 

It was now so dark that Mr. Chiverley could scarcely 
follow the footprints which the doctor had made. But 
the path was finished as the doctor came out, and then 
the two went back for the ladies. 

In a few minutes the little company, preceded by 
the doctor with a lantern, reached the back piazza of 
the old house. When the doctor opened the door, they 
entered a large kitchen, with a wood fire blazing in an 
enormous fireplace. 

“Here,” said Dr. Lester, “is where we shall cook 
and eat. Next to this is what used to be the dining- 
room. The little furniture we saved from the fire was 
put in there, and in a closet are stored away a lot of 
pillows and blankets and sheets, which I leave to you 
ladies to make use of. There is a small room opening 
from that, which my uncle used as a study. It is pretty 
well dismantled, for I have taken all the books over 
to my place. But there is a large couch there, on 
which Miss Ardis can possibly make herself comfort- 
able. My accommodations are pretty rough, but I 
think you will be better off here than in a snowed-up 
train.” 

When the doctor had lighted his lamp and had 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


shown his rooms, his guests were surprised that the 
old ruin should still contain such apartments. 

“ Pretty shabby/’ said the doctor, “but occasionally 
I have had some one here to sleep, and from time to 
time I have put the doors and windows in order.” 

“I call this truly jolly,” said Mr. Chiverley. “I 
wonder, doctor, that you do not come over here and 
live yourself, and have three rooms instead of one.” 

“Thank you,” said the doctor, “but I prefer staying 
where I am. My room is large, and my house has a 
good roof to it. I reserve dilapidation for my friends. 
And now, if you please, we will go to work and get 
our supper.” 

Four persons better adapted to a gypsy style of house- 
keeping could scarcely have been found. The doctor 
had laid in a good supply of provisions. The coffee 
was soon boiling, the ham frizzling, bread toasting, and 
eggs slipping from shell to pan. 

Mrs. Chiverley was charmed with the great open 
fireplace and the iron cranes on which to hang pots. 
“A true artist,” she said, “should always cook at a fire 
like this.” 

The table was spread .with the doctor’s stock of 
crockery, and though the gentlemen sat upon a board 
supported by two boxes, no cooks ever ate a meal of 
their own cooking with more relish, nor were louder 
in its praises. 

After supper a great fire was built up, and the little 
party gathered around it. Then the doctor went over 
to his house, quickly returning with a demijohn and a 
small jar. 

“A ruin like this,” said he, “is incomplete without 
spirits, and I have here some old peach brandy, which, 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


when I pull out this cork, will fill these gloomy halls 
with the invisible ghosts of departed fruit. 77 

At this sentiment there was a general hand-clapping, 
and Mrs. Chiverley wanted to know what was in the 
jar. 

“ Honey, 77 said the doctor. 

“And what do you do with honey? 77 she asked. 

“1 will show you, 77 was the answer. The doctor there- 
upon produced four glasses, and put into each a small 
quantity of the liquid honey. Then he poured in some 
peach brandy, and stirred up the mixture. “Now, 77 
said he, “you shall taste our celebrated ‘ peach and 
honey, 7 which the present generation does not know 
much about, but which, better than anything else, will 
keep off the effects of a long drive through the snow 
and cold. 77 

“Doctor, 77 said Mr. Chiverley, when he had taken a 
few sips, “I now begin to feel as if there was such a 
thing as the sunny South. 77 

The feelings of vexation and disappointment which 
this enforced stoppage had caused to Ardis had now 
nearly disappeared. The doctor seemed so hopeful 
about Roger, and in such good spirits, that her natural 
disposition to look upon the better side of things was 
encouraged. Had she known that the doctor’s pleas- 
ure in having her for a guest, in ministering to her 
wants and in any way promoting her comfort, would 
have put him in good spirits, no matter what dangers 
were threatening other people, she might not have 
been so much encouraged. 

When the ladies had arranged the bedrooms, and 
the gentlemen had had a smoke before the kitchen 
fire, the doctor bade his guests good night, although 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


it was still early in the evening. When he had gone, 
the others remained around the hearth, unwilling to 
leave the glowing blaze. Suddenly Ardis sprang to 
her feet and put out the light. 

“Why did you do that?” exclaimed the Chiverleys, 
in a breath. 

“Hush ! ” said Ardis. “I saw through the window 
two men ride up to the doctor’s door. It would never 
do for anybody to see a light in here. W e should have 
thought of that, and have closed the shutters, if there 
are any.” 

The doctor was astonished, and somewhat alarmed, 
when he opened his door and the light of his lamp fell 
upon Messrs. Skitt and Cruppledean. 

“You didn’t expect any visitors on a night like 
this ! ” cried Skitt. “But it is jolly being out with the 
snow, and the moon, and all that.” 

“Come in, gentlemen, come in,” said the doctor, 
endeavoring to conceal his anxiety. 

“Before we go in,” said Cruppledean, “I want to 
tell you, doctor, that there is somebody in that old 
house. I saw a light there, and it was suddenly put 
out. That sort of thing means no good, and if you 
will give us each a club, we’ll go over with you and 
help you rout out the beggars— tramps, most likely.” 

“Come in, gentlemen,” cried the doctor, earnestly. 
“There are no tramps hereabout, and if any unfor- 
tunates have taken refuge in those ruins, I shall not 
disturb them to-night.” 

“Very good of you,” said Cruppledean, reluctantly 
entering. “And most likely they’ll break into your 
house to-night.” 

“No fear of that ! ” said the doctor, closing the door. 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“Sit down, gentlemen, and warm your toes. Nobody 
will take the trouble to break into my house.” 

“That may be,” growled Cruppledean, “but if I were 
in your place I wouldn’t go to bed until I had found 
out who the sneaking rascals are.” 

“The way to put yourself properly in my place,” 
said the doctor, smiling, “is to sit down and take a 
pipe.” 

The three men sat down before the fire, but Crup- 
pledean did not seem to enjoy it. His features wore 
an air of discontent, and, with his elbows on his knees, 
he puffed vigorously at his pipe, and said nothing. 

“Doctor, when did yon hear from Dunworth ? ” asked 
Skitt. “Yon seem to be the only person with whom 
he has any communication.” 

“The last letter I received from him,” said the doctor, 
“was the one of which I spoke to you. I judged from 
it, as you may remember, that it was his intention 
soon to return.” 

“I wish he would do it,” said Skitt. “Our meals are 
getting worse and worse, and we can’t stand it, yon 
know. If Dunworth doesn’t turn up soon, I shall get 
old Miss Airpenny to come back to us. And if old 
Miss Airpenny comes, the servants vow they will go, 
and then we’ll have to get in a new lot. And 
there’s no knowing what sort they’ll be — thieves, most 
likely. When you write to Dunworth, I wish you’d 
tell him that.” 

The doctor smiled, but before he could answer, Crup- 
pledean broke his silence. “Now, really, doctor,” he 
said, “I don’t think you are acting fair by your neigh- 
bors. It’s not half an hour’s walk from here to Dun- 
worth’s, and the tramps that take up their lodgings in 
271 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


your old ruins are more likely to go to our place to do 
the stealing than to do it here. Come, now, let’s each 
of us take a stick of this fire-wood and go there and 
rout them out.” And he pushed back his chair. 

“No, sir,” said the doctor. “If Judas Iscariot and 
Bill Sykes were in that house, I would not rout them 
out on a night like this.” 

Cruppledean gave an unintelligible growl, pulled up 
his chair to the fire, and again fell to puffing in silence. 

Skitt now began to send more messages to Dun worth, 
and these became so many and so varied that the doctor 
expostulated. 

“If I go into all those particulars,” he said, “I shall 
have to send him a treatise.” 

“Oh, I don’t believe you’ll mind telling him all that, 
doctor,” said Skitt. “It runs along together, you know, 
and he ought to know it.” 

“Doctor,” said Cruppledean, suddenly, “one thing 
you really should do. You ought to go over there 
and see if those beggars have any matches about them. 
If you don’t take away their matches, as like as not 
they’ll set fire to that old place, and burn down your 
house as well.” 

“I am not afraid,” said the doctor. “That old house 
has been burnt as much as it ever will be.” 

“Well, then,” cried Cruppledean, impatiently, “may 
a man go over there and take a look at the rascals, so 
that he’ll know them if he sees them prowling about 
his place ? I am not afraid to go by myself.” 

Skitt now arose. “Come on, Cruppledean,” he said. 
“It is time for us to go home. Don’t bother your head 
about tramps. And it’s as like as not you didn’t see a 
light over there, anyway.” 


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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“Yes, I did,” said Cruppledean, doggedly, as he went 
out to his horse. 

The doctor stood at his door until the two men had 
ridden out of the yard, and then he went back to his 
lire. 

When they were out on the road, Cruppledean turned 
to his companion. “Skitt,” said he, “let’s ride back 
to the other side of that old house and see who is in 
there.” 

“Come on,” said his companion, “and let the old 
house alone. Now, really, Cruppledean, haven’t you 
any sense in your skull? Couldn’t you see that Dr. 
Tester knew who was in that house ? ” 

“Why didn’t he say so, then?” said Cruppledean. 

Skitt laughed. “Because he didn’t want anybody 
else to know. But I know.” 

“Really?” cried Cruppledean. 

“Yes,” said the other. “I could see it by the way 
the doctor spoke and acted. It’s Dunworth ! ” 

“Dun worth ! ” cried the other. “What do you 
mean ? ” 

“I mean,” said Skitt, “that he has never been away 
at all, but has been hiding in that house all the time, 
and Dr. Lester has been keeping him posted about 
what has been going on. That is the reason I sent 
him all those messages. Of course I didn’t expect the 
doctor to write them.” 

Cruppledean threw back his head and laughed with 
such vigor and suddenness that his horse started. 
“This is a go!” he cried. “Now, look here, Skitt ? 
isn’t this just like these Americans?” 

“Well,” said Skitt, “there are other people besides 
Americans who do that sort of thing. I have read of 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


a man in London who went away from his wife and 
family, and wasn’t heard of for twenty years, and all 
that time he was living in a house just across the street, 
and watching his family through a telescope.” 

“Do you suppose Dunworth is doing that?” asked 
Cruppledean, angrily. 

“Oh, no,” said Skitt, “he isn’t that kind ; and I don’t 
believe he will stay away for twenty years, either. I 
think what I said about letting the servants go and 
filling up the house with a pack of thieves will fetch 
him ! ” 

Cruppledean was now highly amused. “Do you 
know what I’ve a mind to do?” he cried. “To-mor- 
row I’ll ride over there, going round by the back, 
where the doctor won’t see me, and I’ll walk straight 
into that old house without knocking, and I’ll say to 
him : i Mr. Dunworth, would you bring the young 
cattle up to the cow-yard so that they can all be fed 
together in this weather, or do you still wish to keep 
them apart?’ It’ll be great fun to see how he looks 
when I say that to him, just as if I had known all 
along that he was there.” 

“If you know what’s good for you,” said Skitt, 
“you’ll let Dunworth alone. And, what’s more, don’t 
let us say a word to Parchester about this. He has 
been putting on airs lately, keeping an eye on things 
as if he expected to come into the property. And it 
will be great fun when he finds out that all the time 
Dunworth has been keeping an eye on him.” 

“It’s larks ! ” cried Cruppledean. “And we’ll shut 
up like oysters before old Parch ! ” 

For an hour Dr. Lester sat by his fire, but steadily 
looking out of the window over the snow-covered 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


ground to the back of the old house, for he had suspi- 
cious concerning the young student of farming. When 
he felt satisfied that Cruppledean was not coming back, 
he went to bed. 

This act had been performed long before by his 
guests, without any light except that afforded by the 
moon. 


275 


CHAPTER XXVII 

The next morning the sky was bright, the sun was 
warm, and there was a great thaw. Everywhere the 
snow was softening and melting and dripping and 
trickling away in little streams wherever it could find 
a channel. It was like early spring to Mr. Chiverley, 
who was not familiar with the South in winter, and he 
stood at the back door of the house and sniffed the 
mild, moist air. When Dr. Lester came over to break- 
fast he did not express much gratification. 

“It means mud about a foot deep,” he said, “and 
great discomfort in getting about, and after the roads 
have all been cut up into deep ruts and holes, they will 
be frozen hard, and one might as well travel over an 
upturned currycomb. Our winters are very fickle.” 

“Do not call this winter,” said Mr. Chiverley. “A 
woman is as old as she looks, and the season is what it 
seems. Please do not disturb that philosophy. I am 
expecting the smell of violets when the snow melts 
from that little mound.” 

“If the smell of fried ham does not prove attractive 
enough to make you come in,” cried Mrs. Chiverley, 
“please close the door.” 

Very soon after breakfast, Dr. Lester mounted 
Cream-o’ -Tartar, and rode to Bolton to see if there 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


were any cliance of the travellers continuing their 
journey that afternoon. He came back with the in- 
formation that the roads over the mountains were still 
blocked, but it was confidently expected that trains 
would go through the next day. 

“Very good/ 7 said Ardis. “We will go over to Wood- 
bridge Station to-morrow, and if the train comes we 
will take it. And remember, doctor, that you are to 
be one of the party. Positively we cannot go without 
you ! 77 

To be shut up in the kitchen of a half-burnt house 
on a fine, bright day like this was irksome to the Chiv- 
erleys, but walking was almost an impossibility, and 
it was, besides, desirable that they should not show 
themselves. The doctor brought over a lot of old 
novels, and with these they quieted their impatient 
souls. 

Ardis did not care to read, and she spent most of 
the morning looking out of the window. It might be 
a strange thing for her friends to be shut up in this 
place, but she felt that it was a very much stranger 
thing for her to be here ! But little more than a mile 
away in a straight line, though much farther by the 
road, a piece of rising ground was topped by a mass of 
trees, their bare topmost branches showing plainly 
against the sky. That was Bald Hill. There was her 
home, there was her father. Here was she. Tears filled 
her eyes as her soul reached out itself toward her father. 
And yet, if she went to him she must give up the 
enterprise of love and duty she had undertaken. She 
did not fear that her father would forbid the continu- 
ance -of her journey, but she knew that when he under- 
stood its obj ect he would go with her. This must not be. 

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In the afternoon she saw the doctor standing in the 
open door, and, after looking out to see that no one 
was on the road, she wrapped herself in a shawl and 
ran over to him. 

“ There is no one to see me,” she said, “and if there 
were, I don’t believe I should be recognized with this 
shawl over my head. People might think I was Betty, 
your cook.” 

The doctor smiled. “Or a wagon-load of corn 
fodder,” he said. “You look as much like one as the 
other.” 

Ardis laughed, and began to walk round the room. 

“Do you remember, doctor,” she said, “how I used 
to go about this room when I was a little girl f And 
the room does not seem to have changed at all, except 
that some things look a little older.” 

“Alas ! ” said the doctor, “some things will grow 
old.” 

Probably he would have moralized a little more had 
not Ardis uttered a sudden exclamation. She had 
stopped before a pair of small top-boots which hung 
against the wall, well worn and somewhat dusty. 

“Why, doctor ! ” cried Ardis, “I positively believe 
these are my riding-boots ! ” 

A blush so deep that it showed itself through his 
tanned and weather-beaten skin rose to the doctor’s 
face, but he was behind Ardis, and she did not see it. 
“Yes,” he said, coming forward, “they are your boots. 
Old Miles, who had them to mend, brought them here, 
one day, and asked me to carry them over to you, he 
having one of his rheumatic fits. But the patches he 
had put over those cracked places were so rough and 
coarse I did not believe that you would wear the boots, 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


and I had intended doctoring them a little myself be- 
fore I took them to you.” 

“ You ! ” exclaimed Ardis. “ You mend my boots ! ” 

“Yes,” said the doctor, with a constrained laugh. 
“I like that sort of work. With an adhesive substance 
I have I can put a patch on a boot so that it will 
scarcely be noticed.” 

“I am very glad you did not do it,” said Ardis. “I 
would not like to think of such a thing as your mend- 
ing my boots. Those patches are quite good enough 
for the country in bad weather.” Then she continued : 
“By the way, doctor, I should like to have those boots 
now. They are good and thick, and will keep my feet 
dry in this weather much better than those I have on.” 

“You should stay in the house as much as you can, 
Miss Ardis,” said the doctor, “if you don’t want your 
friends to stop here and call on you. But, if you are 
discreet, you can take a little fresh air without being 
noticed, and I will bring the boots over to you.” 

Ardis soon ran back to the old house, and when she 
had gone the doctor took down the boots, brushed off 
the dust, and then proceeded carefully to anoint them 
with a waterproof preparation from a stone bottle. 
As he sat at work, rubbing the oily fluid into the pores 
of the leather with a patience and intelligence which 
could not be expected of any servant of that region, he 
remembered his curious thrill of pleasure when the 
old, rheumatic cobbler put those little boots into his 
hands. He also called to mind how he had afterwards 
looked with indignation at the coarse patches, and how 
the happy thought had come to him that he would 
himself cover with smooth, neatly fitting bits of leather 
these cracks in the boots of Ardis $ how he had paid the 
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old cobbler and bad bung them up in bis room ; bow 
day after day be bad looked on them and resolved that 
on the morrow be would begin tbe true labor of love, 
and that, although she would never know it, be would 
with bis own bands do something that would be of 
service to Ardis. He remembered, too, bow be never 
bad begun bis task, knowing that when tbe boots had 
been put in proper order they ought to be returned to 
their owner, and feeling each day more and more re- 
luctant to part with them. And now Ardis bad seen 
them, had suspected nothing, and was going to tramp 
about in them a little at the back of the old bouse, 
and if not one drop of snow-water penetrated through 
the leather, it would be due to tbe loving earnestness 
with which be rubbed in that compound. 

Ardis thought tbe doctor was a long time coming 
with tbe boots, but after be bad brought them she 
enjoyed her tramp down a smooth walk of unbroken 
snow in tbe garden of tbe old bouse, made secure from 
observation by a hedge of evergreens, and not a drop 
of snow-water came through tbe leather to her feet. 
And when she came in she lent tbe boots to Mrs. Chiv- 
erley, who was well pleased to lay by her novel for a 
breath of outer air. 

It was ten o’clock that night when tbe little party 
retired to their rooms, but even then Ardis did not go 
to bed. She sat at her window looking out over tbe 
landscape. Tbe moon, somewhat past tbe full, was 
shining brightly, and in tbe distance lay Bald Hill, 
with its fringe of tree-tops against tbe sky. 

For half an hour she sat and looked out. Then she 
got up and listened. All was quiet in tbe old bouse. 
She looked across tbe yard ; tbe doctor’s little home 
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was dark. Now she began to busy herself. The room 
was lighted only by the moon and by a faint glow of 
embers from the hearth, but she was able to find what 
she wanted. She took off her shoes, and replaced them 
with the riding-boots which the doctor had so carefully 
anointed $ she put on a thick jacket, and over that a 
dark waterproof, the hood of which enveloped her 
head. Then she stepped quietly to the window, raised 
it, looked this way and that, and, with an ease that 
showed this was not the first time in her life that 
she had done such a thing, she got out of the window, 
dropping gently upon the snow, but with sufficient 
force to make a light crushing sound. Fearful that 
this might have awakened the Chiverleys, she stood 
still for a moment and listened. But hearing nothing 
to indicate that the slumber of her friends had been 
disturbed, she quietly pulled down the window and 
made her way across the yard, keeping as far from the 
doctor’s house as possible. When she reached the road 
she crossed it, and climbed the fence on the other side, 
and then started straight across the fields toward Bald 
Hill. The night was cold and frosty, and the snow, 
which had been melting all day, was covered with a 
crust, which, however, was not strong enough to bear 
the weight of Ardis, whose feet broke through it at 
every step. But it was not deep, and on the ridges 
and higher portions of the field, which had lain all day 
in the sunshine, the snow was almost gone, although 
the tangled dead grass and the stubble often made her 
high boots of as much service to her here as in the snow. 

Straight on she went toward the rising ground on 
which stood her home. When she came to a fence she 
climbed it ; in the lower places, where the snow was 
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deepest, slie crushed boldly through it. Once she came 
to a deep gully, and felt obliged to go around the head 
of it, but reaching another and a shallower one, she 
stopped for a moment, and seeing how far it extended 
on either hand, she gathered her waterproof tightly 
about her, and slid to the bottom, plunging into snow 
which came nearly to the top of her boots, and then 
briskly clambered up the opposite bank, finding it nec- 
essary, however, occasionally to use her hands. 

She continued her course, now through the apple 
orchard, then over the lawn and among the great oaks 
which stood about the house. All was quiet, almost 
death-like. Heavy shadows alternated with wide 
spaces of moonlit snow. Nowhere a sign or sound of 
life. Major Claverden kept only hunting-dogs, and 
these, in such weather, were safely housed in a distant 
barn. Midnight intruders were not expected at Bald 
Hill. 

A path had been cleared around the house, and on 
this Ardis stepped noiselessly to the front piazza and 
ascended the steps. There was a window at one end 
of the piazza which opened into the library, and which 
was seldom fastened, for when there had been smoking 
in that room her father liked to lower the upper sash 
slightly. She opened the shutters, and, as she had 
hoped and expected, she found she could raise the lower 
sash. Lifting it slowly, she clambered into the room, 
and slipping off her boots, stepped quickly to the fire- 
place, where a great mass of coals twinkled in thousands 
of little stars through the white ashes that had been 
piled over them. Here she sat down and warmed 
herself. Her vigorous exercise had put her body in a 
glow, but her hands and face were cold. 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


She would not have enjoyed so much the gentle heat 
eoming from this banked-up bed of coals had she 
known that the man who had followed her from the 
old half- ruined house all the way to Bald Hill, keeping 
at a discreet distance, but never losing sight of her 
until she had entered the library window, was now 
standing on a bit of bare ground behind one of the oak- 
trees on the lawn, stamping his feet, and beating him- 
self with his arms to keep from becoming chilled. This 
man had heard the slight crunch made by the breaking 
of the snow- crust when Ardis had dropped from her 
bedroom window. He had seen her cross the yard, and 
he had divined her purpose. As quickly as possible 
he had prepared himself for a walk through the snow, 
and had followed her, that he might protect and help 
her in case there should be need for it, but intending 
not to intrude himself upon her unless there should be 
need. Once, when she slipped down into the gully, acci- 
dentally, as he thought, he had rushed forward to her 
assistance, but she so quickly scrambled up the other 
side and continued on her way that he understood 
what she had done, and followed her example when he 
reached the gully. Shivering and stamping, he would 
stay outside until she reappeared, or until he felt 
assured that she had no intention of reappearing. 

The little white hands that were spread out over the 
fire of hot ashes were soon warmed, and then Ardis 
arose and, with noiseless tread, stepped out of the open 
library door into the hall. The moonlight, coming in 
at a window over the landing of the stairway, enabled 
her to see her way, and she quietly went up-stairs. 
The door of the front room on the right of the upper 
hall was slightly ajar, and through it came a long line 
283 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


of pale light. This was her father’s room. The door 
was never entirely closed, and in it a little night-lamp 
always burnt. 

Ardis noiselessly approached the door, and opening 
it slowly and gently, she looked in. Her father was 
asleep— sound asleep, as his low and regular breath- 
ing testified. His ruddy, upturned features were dis- 
tinctly visible. Ardis gently drew near and seated 
herself upon the corner of a chair which stood close by 
the bedside. Then, leaning forward, she steadfastly 
looked upon her father’s face. What she would do, 
what she would say, how she would attempt to explain 
her presence there, should he suddenly awake, she did 
not consider. She simply sat and looked upon his 
face. 

For ten or fifteen minutes Ardis remained thus, 
leaning slightly forward and gazing upon her father’s 
features, calm in sleep. Then she bent her face down 
close to his, and gently kissed him on the cheek. 
There was a slight twitching in the muscles of his face, 
and she drew back quickly ; but, almost immediately, 
the regular breathing began again, and he slept on. 

Quietly rising, Ardis now moved toward the door. 
There she stopped, and, turning, looked back for a few 
moments at her father. Then she went out, leaving 
the door as she had found it. What she had done was 
a very little thing, but it was the sole reason for which, 
in the middle of the night, she had trudged through 
the snow to Bald Hill. 

When she reached the lower hall she was struck 
with an idea. Going to the library, she found the 
match-box in its regular place on the mantelpiece, 
and igniting a match by touching it to an exposed 
284 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


ember, so that no crackling should be heard, she 
lighted a candle in one of the old-fashioned silver 
candlesticks which stood on each end of the mantel- 
piece. With this heavy piece of family plate in her 
hand, she went over all the lower part of the house, 
omitting only the store-room, the door of which was 
locked. When she had satisfied herself that everything 
was in order, and that the comfort of her father and 
his guest, the general, was properly attended to, she 
reentered the library, blew out the light, and, when 
the little spark on the wick had entirely died away, 
she replaced the candlestick on the mantelpiece. 

Her feet were now cold, having so long been covered 
only by stockings, and she stood and warmed them at 
the fire. Outside, the man behind the oak-tree kept 
stamping his feet, but did not succeed in keeping them 
very warm. Through the half-closed slats of the shut- 
ters he had seen the light as Ardis passed from room to 
room, and had thought how easy it would be for a 
robber to rob the Bald Hill house. Fortunate, there- 
fore, it was that there were no robbers. Thinking thus, 
he stamped his feet, and did not wonder that Ardis was 
loath to leave that comfortable mansion. 

When Ardis had warmed her feet, she went to the 
window, put on her boots, raised the sash, got out, 
closed the window and shutters, and then, with as little 
creaking of boots and boards as was possible, she made 
her way along the piazza and down the steps. 

“Now,” she said to herself, as she reached the ground, 
“I do not see why any one should know that I have 
been here.” The reason she did not see was the 
opacity of an oak-tree. 

When she had crossed the lawn and entered the 
285 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


apple orchard the man behind the tree began to follow 
her. She went straight away across the fields, but not 
in the track by which she had come, for by making a 
slight divergence she believed she could avoid the gul- 
lies. She now began to feel a little nervous. When 
she had been going to Bald Hill, her object, and the 
fact that she was approaching her home, had sustained 
her courage. But now she was going to a strange 
place, and it was very, very late. If she should meet 
a man or a dog, or suddenly find herself benumbed by 
cold, what would become of her ? Steadily behind her 
followed the man. He knew what would become of 
her should danger threaten. 

When Ardis reached her bedroom window, the sill 
of which was some four feet from the ground, she 
found that she could not raise the lower sash. The 
projection of the framework around the panes on the 
outside was so slight that her fingers could obtain but 
little hold, and she could not reach the upper part of 
the sash. She was about to relinquish the attempt in 
shivering despair when a low voice beside her said : 
“ Allow me to raise the window, Miss Ardis.” 

If she had not known the voice she would have 
screamed in fright. “Dr. Lester!” she said. “Is it 
possible that I have awakened you by trying to get in 
at this window ? ” 

The doctor smiled, and still depressing his voice for 
fear of awakening the Chiverleys, he said : “People 
cannot get into my houses without my knowing it. 
And now, let me help you in.” 

With one foot in his hand, as if she were mounting a 
horse, Ardis was raised to the window-sill, and entered 
her room. Before closing the window she leaned out 
286 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


and said : “I think it is right, doctor, that I should 
tell you that I have been to Bald Hill. I could not 
pass so near my home without peeping in on father, 
and I did that and bade him good-by, although he did 
not know it, being fast asleep. I slipped away by 
myself because I was sure you would all cry out against 
such an undertaking. But I went there and came back 
without meeting even an old hare. My only mishap 
was not being able to open this window, and I am very 
sorry that I made you come out of your house to open 
it for me.” 

“That is a matter of no consequence,” said the 
doctor. “But you must not stay any longer at that 
open window. Good night.” 

Dr. Lester had just opened his door when he heard 
a step behind him, and, turning suddenly, he beheld 
Bonetti. As the doctor started back in amazement, 
the other said in a high whisper : “I’ll be mighty glad 
to get inside and warm myself, doctor, for I am pretty 
nigh froze.” And saying this, he immediately entered 
the house. 

The doctor followed. “Bonnet ! ” he exclaimed, 
“what does this mean? What are you doing here?” 

Bonetti drew a chair close to the fireplace, in which 
some ends of logs were still smouldering. “Well,” said 
he, “I have been to Bald Hill with you and Miss Ardis 
Claverden. When I saw you followin’ her across the 
fields I reckoned that you were goin’ along to take 
care of her without her knowin’ it. So I followed you 
to take care of you.” 

“Of me?” said the doctor, so agitated that he had 
not thought of sitting down. “And how did you come 
to see Miss Ardis? What were you doing here? ” 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“Yes,” said Bonetti, extending his feet dangerously 
close to the embers, “I went along to take care of you, 
for if you’d met one drunken feller keepin’ Christmas 
before the time, you’d ha’ been just as likely to meet 
two, and then your hands would have been a little too 
full. And how did I know it was Miss Ardis ? That 
was easy enough to anybody who had ever seen her 
walk. But I would have known it was her, anyway, 
from havin’ seen her and that painter gentleman and 
his wife all sittin’ together in the kitchen of the old 
house.” 

“ Bonnet ! ” exclaimed the doctor. 

“Yes,” said Bonetti. “I came up not long after sup- 
per, thinkin’ I’d have a little talk with you, and when 
I opened your door you wasn’t here ; and when I saw 
a path through the snow from this house to the other 
one, and a regular dug-out path, too, such as you 
wouldn’t have made for yourself, I began to wonder, 
and I went over to see what it meant. The shutters 
were all shut, but there was a chink in one of them, 
and I looked through, and there was you four sittin’ 
before the fire.” 

“Bonnet,” said the doctor, “that was a low-down, 
contemptible thing for you to do.” 

“No, it was not,” said Bonetti. “I wanted to see 
who was in there, and how could I tell that I oughtn’t 
to look till I had looked ? You may bet your life that 
I jumped when I did see who was there ! I didn’t 
look in no more, for I don’t make a business of peepin’ 
through chinks, but I went into that old garden, where 
I could walk about without bein’ seen, and I tramped up 
and down in a trodden path, thinkin’ and thinkin’ and 
thinkin’, and tryin’ to work out the toughest puzzle 
288 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


that had ever been set before me since the day I was 
born. And put it this way or that just as much as I 
pleased, there was only one way in which I could work 
it out. There was Miss Ardis Claverden, almost within 
rifle-shot of her own home, where she was born and 
raised, and not goin’ there, and shuttin’ herself up in 
that old house ; and there was that’painter— I forget his 
name— and his wife ; and there was you. Now, it stands 
to reason there was only one way to work that out, and 
that was that you’d been playin’ a mighty deep game 
on me, and on most other people, too, and that you and 
Miss Ardis was goin’ to run off and get married, and 
that them two had come with her to help along, and 
that none of yon was goin’ to show at Bald Hill till 
the knot was tied.” 

“ What outrageous and abominable stuff ! ” cried Dr. 
Lester. 

“Well,” said Bonetti, “that was the only way I could 
work it out, and I made up my mind that when you 
came back to your house I’d come up to you, fair and 
square, and ask you about it, and if I hadn’t worked 
it out right, you could say so. But you was an awful 
long time cornin’ out, and after walkin’ up and down 
and keepin’ a watch upon the house until near the 
middle of the night, and then cornin’ up close to the 
back door, and hearin’ you all still talkin’ inside, I went 
to the stable and sat down alongside of the horse so as 
to get warmed up. His hide was mighty comfortable 
to put my hands on, and I stayed longer than I thought 
to, and when I come out the first thing I saw was a 
woman jumpin’ on the snow from a lower window. 
You can bet that I stood stock-still and kept shady 
when I saw that ! Then she put off and got into the 
289 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


field, and of course I knew who it was. Then out you 
come, quiet, and followed her. I let you get a little 
on, and I followed you, as I told you before. Now, I 
couldn’t work out what she was goin’ off to Bald Hill 
for. At first I thought she had repented her bargain, 
and was runnin’ home to her father. But I soon con- 
sidered that she wasn’t the kind of a girl to go back 
on anybody.” 

The doctor here made an impatient gesture, and 
seemed about to interrupt, but he did not, and Bonetti 
continued : 

“By the time she had got into the Bald Hill house 
—and mighty neat she did it too— I had made up my 
mind that she had gone home to get something she 
wanted to take with her. I reckoned she’d be out 
pretty soon because I saw you waitin’, so I waited, too. 
It was cold work, but I reckoned I could stand it as 
long as you could ; and when she come out, havin’ got 
her breastpin or her ring, or whatever it was she was 
after, I followed after you both, and saw you help her 
in the window. Now, then, doctor, if I haven’t worked 
it out the right way, what is the right way ? ” 

Dr. Lester, who had been standing all this time, now 
sat down before the fire. He was very angry with 
Bonetti, and would have been glad to refuse to gratify 
his anxiety. But the man had seen so much it would 
be wise to secure his secrecy by telling him everything. 
Therefore, in as few words as possible he stated the 
facts in the case. “And now, Bonnet,” said the doctor, 
“you are not to breathe to your family, or to any one, 
that you have seen Miss Ardis and her friends here, 
or that you know anything about their movements or 
their intentions. As for me, it is of no importance 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


whether I stay here or go away, and if people think I 
am absent on Roger Dunworth’s behalf I have no ob- 
j ections. But they must know nothing of the company 
with me. And by the way, Bonnet, since you have 
forced yourself into this matter, I shall get you to do 
something for me. If Roger Dunworth should come 
home while I am looking for him, or if you should hear 
anything about him which I ought to know, I want 
you to telegraph to me. I will give you the address.” 

So saying, the doctor went to his desk and presently 
returned with the address on a card. Bonetti took it. 

“ Didman’s Hotel, Atlanta, Georgia,” he read. L 1 That, 
I suppose, is the p’int you’re goin’ to operate from ? ” 

“ Yes,” said the doctor, “and remember this, Bonnet : 
when Miss Ardis returns, successful or unsuccessful, 
she will tell her father all that has happened, but he 
must not hear a word of it from any other lips.” 

“All right ! ” said Bonetti. “Nobody shall hear of 
it from me.” He was silent for a moment, and then he 
went on : “It does seem to me, Hr. Lester, that you 
must love a girl most powerful when you do all you’re 
doin’ to help her to get the man she wants.” 

“Bonnet ! ” exclaimed the doctor, springing to his 
feet, “ C I once told you to drop all that ! ” 

“Dropped it is,” said the other, pushing back his 
chair and extending his fingers with a jerk as if some- 
thing hot had fallen from them. “And now I think 
I’ll go home. If I hear anything about Dunworth I’ll 
telegraph to you, namin’ no names. But I don’t be- 
lieve he’ll be ketched for a horse-thief. He’s too sharp 
for that.” 

“You may as well sleep here,” said the doctor. “It 
is very late, and you can have that lounge.” 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“No,” said Bonetti. “I don’t mind walkin’ home. 
And if the women-folks should get up to-morrow 
morning and find me away and no wood split, there 
might be a row. Good night, and good luck to you ! ” 

The next day Cream- o’ -Tartar, with some difficulty 
in muddy places, drew our party to Woodbridge Sta- 
tion, where, in due time, a southern-bound train arrived 
and took them on their journey. The doctor did not 
mount the steps of the car until the train was on the 
point of starting. He had been stroking the nose of 
his horse, and talking to a man who was to take charge 
of him. 

“I don’t wonder, Hr. Lester,” said Ardis, as they 
were moving off, “that you wanted to say good-by to 
Cream-o’-Tartar. He is a good horse, and when I 
come back I am going to do something for him. I don’t 
know what it will be, but something for his comfort.” 

“Yes,” said the doctor, “he is a good horse.” Then 
he dropped the subject. It was not for him to say to 
Ardis that on the morning before he had sold Cream- 
o’-Tartar to pay the expenses of this journey. 


292 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


At Didman’s Hotel in Atlanta our party heard no 
news of Roger Dunworth. That this should be so had 
been considered among the strong possibilities, and no 
time was lost in making preparations to carry out the 
plan of campaign which had been agreed upon. After 
it had been made plain that Roger had not gone to any 
other place in the city, a letter was sent to the post- 
master at Breeville, announcing the approach in that 
direction of friends of Mr. Dunworth, and the next 
morning the party set out on their search through a 
portion of the State untraversed by railroads. It was 
decided to proceed northward toward Breeville, as it 
was supposed that Roger would naturally make his 
way southward toward Atlanta, where he had re- 
quested Dr. Lester to address him. At all possible 
points inquiries were to be made, and at places where 
it might be thought proper, notes were to be left for 
Roger, or information for his benefit. 

Two buggies were hired for the journey, each drawn 
by a single horse. It was considered better to proceed 
in this way, as in the search it would sometimes be 
necessary for the party to separate. The travellers 
took with them very little baggage, leaving their 
trunks at Atlanta, and the clothes they wore were such 
293 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

as were suited to rough work in all weathers. The 
doctor did not find it necessary to make any change in 
his dress, but Mr. Chiverley wore a gray flannel shirt 
and a soft, shapeless hat. His wife considered herself 
quite ready for roughing it in an old woollen dress and 
a black straw hat tied on with a veil. Ardis wore a 
suit in which she had been accustomed to tramp about 
Bald Hill in bad weather. Her dark flannel dress was 
short, a silk handkerchief was tied loosely around her 
neck, and her hair was tightly put up, and almost con- 
cealed under a boy’s felt hat. On her feet she wore 
the boots which Dr. Leste'r had returned to her. 

“Well!” cried Mr. Chiverley, when he saw her. 
“You are the young lady who advised us to bring our 
best clothes down here, so we could make an impres- 
sion of respectability.” 

“Certainly,” said Ardis, “and if the time comes to 
make such an impression we should be sorry if we 
had to make it in this toggery. But for working pur- 
poses I call this sort of thing quite suitable.” 

“You have made yourself look like a girl,” said 
Mrs. Chiverley, “while I resemble an old woman. I 
think I shall take you for my daughter.” 

“Very good,” said Ardis, “and when we get tired of 
that we can change the relationship with the costume.” 

The party set out, with the two gentlemen in the 
leading buggy and Ardis driving Mrs. Chiverley in 
the other. 

Their plan was to change about when they felt like it. 

As they drove along Mr. Chiverley said to his com- 
panion : “I don’t care to speak in this way before the 
ladies, but since I have found that Mr. Dunworth has 
not made his appearance in Atlanta, where his letters 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


were to be forwarded, I have not been hopeful in re- 
gard to him. It is now a long time since he left Bree- 
ville.” 

“The case does not look as well as I should like it 
to,” said the doctor, “but I don’t despair. Boger Dun- 
worth is a peculiar fellow, and his travelling, especially 
in the present instance, is likely to be different from 
the travelling of any other man. For years he has 
been much interested in northern Georgia, and al- 
though this was not the reason for his leaving home, I 
am sure it determined the place of his exile. At col- 
lege he was an ardent student, and now he is an ardent 
farmer. If there is any better way of doing things 
than as he does them, he wants to know it. With this 
object in view, it would be of no use or interest to him 
to travel on a highroad direct to Atlanta. He would 
naturally diverge in one direction and another, and 
continue his observations as he made his way south. 
I imagine that he may have an idea of settling down 
here, and that he is investigating different localities 
with that view.” 

“His present farm is a very good one,” said Mr. 
Chiverley. 

“Yes,” said the doctor, “but he probably could make 
more money here, and in his present state of mind he 
might prefer to live here. I shall be very sorry if he 
leaves us, for our county cannot afford to lose such a 
man.” 

“I should say not,” remarked the other. “We used 
to see a good deal of him the summer we were at Bol- 
ton and Bald Hill, and we both considered him a first- 
class fellow. He went away in a fit of jealousy, didn’t 
he?” 


295 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“ Jealousy or despair/’ said the doctor. 

“Well,” said Mr. Chiverley, “I don’t approve of 
either jealousy or despair, but if a man is liable to 
these things, I don’t know any one more capable of 
bringing them on than Miss Ardis Claverden.” 

“True ! ” said the doctor. 

After a silence of a few moments, Mr. Chiverley re- 
marked : “No man could receive a higher compliment 
than to have Ardis Claverden come down here on his 
account. Of course it is the motive which makes the 
action valuable. As far as doing anything is con- 
cerned, it would have been better to have sent two 
more men than to have come herself and brought Mrs. 
Chiverley.” 

“I am not sure of that,” said the doctor. “Miss 
Ardis came down here to see that we did everything 
that could be done, and especially to see that we did 
not get discouraged and give up.” 

“You may be right,” said Mr. Chiverley. “It is 
possible we might have weakened,— at least, I might,— 
but, with her with us, I think there will be no weak- 
ening.” 

That day our friends heard nothing of Dunworth, 
but this did not greatly disappoint them, as they were 
yet too near Atlanta to expect much in the way of 
news of him. They spent the night at a village, and 
in the morning pursued their journey. On this day 
some detours were made, the doctor in one instance 
walking several miles across the country to a cross- 
roads post-office of which he had been told. He en- 
joyed this opportunity of stretching his long legs, but 
when he rejoined his party he had no news to give them. 

Nothing of importance occurred the next day, except 
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that about the middle of the afternoon one of the 
horses, who had been a disappointment during the 
whole journey, showed signs that his day’s supply of 
strength was giving out, and they, therefore, found 
themselves obliged to stop at a settlement some miles 
short of the place where they had expected to spend 
the night. 

Ardis was very impatient at this delay. They were 
now approaching a part of the country where news 
was to be expected, and the town at which they had 
intended to conclude their day’s journey was a place 
of some importance, where they might reasonably ex- 
pect to learn something. An effort was made to get 
another horse, but there were none to be had at this 
place. They hoped that in the morning the horse 
would be able to carry them on. 

The tavern at which they stopped was small but 
comfortable enough. The two ladies, with the books 
they had brought with them, ensconced themselves in 
the dining-room, where, although the weather was not 
cold, a fire of brushwood was crackling on the hearth. 
The doctor and Mr. Chiverley went out for a tramp, 
partly for the sake of the exercise, and partly because 
they might chance upon news of Dunworth at some 
farm-house or cross-roads store. 

Ardis soon tired of reading, and leaving Mrs. Chiv- 
erley to the fire and her book, she went out on a 
side piazza which opened from the parlor. Outside 
it was much more agreeable to her than indoors. The 
sun had not yet set, and the air was just beginning to 
be touched with a gentle frostiness. She went in the 
house, put on her hat and jacket, and walked up and 
down the piazza. 


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While thus quieting her impatience by circulating 
her blood, three horsemen rode up to the tavern, and 
tying their horses to a rack, they entered a bar-room 
which was in the front of the house on the ground 
floor. From the end of the piazza, Ardis, having noth- 
ing else to look at, watched these men as they 
dismounted and went into the house. They were 
ordinary-looking men, plainly dressed, and in appear- 
ance nowise interesting. In horses, even if ordinary, 
Ardis was much more interested than in ordinary men, 
and she, therefore, turned her attention to the animals 
at the rack. Two of these horses might have been 
good enough beasts, but they had been ridden hard, 
apparently for a long distance, and looked worn and 
tired. The third horse, however, seemed fresh and in 
good condition, and as Ardis looked at him she thought 
what a fine thing it would be if her party could get 
such a horse as that with which to continue their jour- 
ney instead of the one which had caused them such 
delay. The animal might not be a driving horse, and, 
in all probability his owner would not be willing to 
hire him, but, nevertheless, she would go down to look 
at him. 

He was indeed a fine horse and very much opposed 
to being tied to a rack. His companions stood quietly, 
their heads down, but he moved about, stamping im- 
patiently, and tossing his head from side to side as if he 
were looking for some one to come and loose him. 

While standing near the horse, but out of the way of 
his sidelong movements, Ardis was joined by the pro- 
prietor of the house, a pleasant little man who wore a 
straw hat in December. 

“Fine horse that, miss!” said he. “Good enough 
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for a general in the army ! Man inside brought him 
down from Whitefield, and I must say he stood the 
journey better than them others. That’s the way a 
horse with blood in him shows what he’s worth.” 

“The others appear to be very good horses/’ said 
Ardis. 

“Yes,” said the man, “but they don’t begin to come 
up to this fellow ! He is a little damp on his legs and 
flanks, but on the rest of him he hasn’t turned a hair. 
If I had the money, I’d like to own that horse ! You 
might almost think he was tryin’ to say that he wants 
his supper, and was a-wonderin’ if his master was 
a-goin’ to take him back home or put him up here. 
I reck’n I’ll go in and inquire about that p’int myself.” 

Ardis still stood looking at the horse. Gradually 
she began to imagine she had seen him before. She 
went to the other side of him and made him stand 
around. She now knew why he seemed familiar to 
her. He resembled the horse on which she had once 
taken a wild ride to drive back a runaway steer. That 
horse belonged to Roger Dunworth, and it was the one, 
as she had been told, on which he had taken his south- 
ern journey. There were certain movements of this 
animal’s head, as he turned to look at her, which very 
forcibly recalled to her mind the horse which she had 
mounted at Heatherley to go after the steer. 

The men now came out of the house, and Ardis 
walked away to the other side of the road, where there 
was a broad foot-path. She strolled a short distance 
on this, and then, turning, she saw that the men had 
not mounted, but were walking over to a store at the 
other end of the little settlement. 

Her mind was now occupied by a rush of conjec- 
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tures. Could it be possible that this was Roger’s horse ? 
And, if so, how did these men get him ? She did not 
believe it likely that Roger had sold him ; but if any 
evil had happened to Roger, the horse might have 
fallen into the hands of these men. 

The men having now entered the store, Ardis crossed 
the road, and, again approaching the horse, began to 
examine him more critically than before. He had 
upon him a handsome brass-pommelled army -saddle, 
and lifting the flap of this, Ardis saw underneath, 
scratched boldly and clearly on the leather, the letters 
“R. D.” 

“This is Roger’s horse!” Ardis said almost aloud, 
“and this is his saddle ! ” And her heart began to beat 
hard and fast. “These men have stolen him ! ” she 
said. “In any event, Roger would not have sold this 
saddle ! It was his father’s.” Then again rushed into 
her mind the dreadful thought that something had 
happened to Roger. But she bravely struck down this 
thought. “No,” she said. “If anything had happened 
no farther away than that horse has travelled to-day 
it would have been heard of here ! ” And then there 
came into her mind a thought which displaced every- 
thing else, and that was that Roger might not be very 
far away. 

Of course it was possible that the horse had made an 
easy journey to-day, and that he had made an easy one 
the day before, and another the day before that, but 
no such possibilities entered the mind of Ardis, nor did 
she call upon her judgment to act. She felt that the 
horse had come from Roger, and that he had not come 
far. The men might have brought the other horses 
from Whitefield County, but not this one. 

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She stood trembling, pressing her hand against the 
warm shoulder of the horse. It was Roger’s horse ; it 
was Roger’s saddle. She looked about her. The men 
were still in the store, but at any moment they might 
come out. Dr. Lester and Mr. Chiverley were no- 
where visible on field or road. For an instant she 
thought of the little landlord with the straw hat. 
But what could he do? What would he be willing 
to do? 

Instinctively, and scarcely knowing that she did it, 
she shortened the stirrup on the near side of the horse, 
at which she was standing. Then she stood, thinking 
hard and fast, like the striking of an alarm-clock. If 
she could get that horse away until the doctor and Mr. 
Chiverley came back they might be able to do some- 
thing or to find out something. But if the men rode 
off before the return of her friends, the horse would be 
gone, and with him the strongest clew to Roger’s where- 
abouts. The idea that the men were horse-thieves was 
now firmly fixed in her mind. 

Suddenly she stopped thinking, and, without casting 
a glance around her, she quietly stepped forward to 
the rack, and, standing on tiptoe, loosed the bridle from 
the peg and threw it over the horse’s neck. Then, 
with her hand on the pommel of the saddle, she gave 
a strong upward spring. She had done this sort of 
thing before, but this horse stood higher than her mare, 
and there was a little struggle before she got her seat. 
One foot went into the stirrup, and one knee against 
the pommel. It was an unsafe position, but she did 
not think of that. 

The horse backed and sidled into the road. Ardis 
sat up proudly. “Now I have possession of him ! ” she 
301 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


thought. “ They shall not have him again until every- 
thing is explained.” 

At this instant she heard a shout down the road, and 
looking hack, she saw the three men outside the store, 
one of them running toward her. With a word to the 
horse and with a grip of the pommel with one hand, 
she cantered away from the men. The peculiar 
danger of her situation did not oppress her. But if it 
had, she would not have hesitated. 

“They shall not go off without telling everything,” 
she said, and again looked over the fields for her 
friends. She saw nothing of them, hut her backward 
glance took in the tavern, and she saw that two of the 
men were mounting their horses, that the little land- 
lord was standing in the road, wildly gesticulating, 
and that Mrs. Chiverley was leaning over the rails of 
the piazza. 

Ardis leaned forward and urged her horse into a 
gallop. When she gave up the animal, it should be in 
the presence of Dr. Lester and Mr. Chiverley. Until 
they appeared, the men should not have him ! 

She was going at a good pace, but she heard the 
hard beating of hoofs behind her. Turning her head, 
she saw that two men were riding after her, and gain- 
ing on her. As she turned they shouted to her to stop. 
There was something frightening in their voices and 
gestures, and even had she been thinking of stopping 
to parley with them, she dared not do so now. If the 
men were not thieves and rascals, why should they be 
so disturbed at a young woman taking a ride on one of 
their horses f Why should they doubt that she would 
come back to her friends ? 

Her first object now was to get away from her pur- 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


suers, and she did not in the least doubt she could do 
it. If she caught sight of the doctor and Mr. Chiver- 
ley, she would instantly put herself and the whole 
affair into their hands ; but if she did not see them, she 
would ride to a farm or a village where she could seek 
protection, not only for herself, but for Roger’s horse. 
At all risks, that horse must be detained until the 
thread which stretched from him to Roger could be 
followed up ! If those men should overtake her, they 
might injure her or they might not, but they would 
certainly bear away the horse, and break and utterly 
destroy the present strong clew to the object of her 
journey. 

She had no whip, but her quick, earnest words, and 
the fire of haste which seemed to run from her nervous 
hand through the reins and bit, into his brain, were 
enough for the spirited animal beneath her. He gave 
full play to his powerful muscles, and went over the 
road at a pace which made Ardis hold hard to the 
pommel of the saddle in order to keep her seat. 

A few minutes of this furious galloping brought her 
to a fork in the road. It mattered not to Ardis which 
road she took, but the horse gave her no opportunity 
of making a decision, for, with a swerve which nearly 
unbalanced her, he turned into the left-hand road. 
When she felt that she again had command of her seat 
—and for a few moments she had had some doubt of 
this— Ardis turned to look back. On the road over 
which she had gone she saw but one of her pursuers, 
and he was at such a distance behind her, she felt sure 
he would not overtake her. But where was the other ? 

She turned to the other side, and saw him galloping 
madly along the main road, but past the point at which 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


she had turned. He must have been not far behind 
her when she reached the fork, but why should he keep 
on the other road? 

In a few moments she divined his purpose. The 
road she was on now made a curve to the right around 
the base of a low hill, and in all probability it ap- 
proached the highway, and the man who was so furi- 
ously keeping on the straight course might make a cut 
across the fields and get into the road ahead of her. 
Then she would be lost, for, with one pursuer before 
her and another behind her, she could do nothing. 

For an instant she thought of turning into the fields 
to her left, and dashing across the country to the set- 
tlement from which she had come. But this would be 
impossible. In a man’s saddle she could not leap 
fences nor go over a rough country. In less than a 
minute she had passed the hill, and throwing an excited 
glance over the level fields, she saw that her suspicions 
had been correct. The foremost man had already left 
the main road, and was madly urging his horse across 
a pasture-field. She could see his arm waving up and 
down as he plied the whip. Her road, as she saw it 
before her, still curved toward the other, and, to her 
judgment, the man seemed nearer the point upon it at 
which he was aiming than she was. 

Her situation was desperate, and she determined 
upon a bold stroke. She was more afraid of the man 
before her than of the one behind her, partly because 
it was clear that the latter was mounted on the poorer 
horse. She would turn, make a wild dash past him, 
and gallop back to the tavern, at which place the 
doctor and Mr. Chiverley must, by this time, have 
arrived. Her intention to carry out this plan was 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


strengthened by the feeling that she did not wish longer 
to pursue this unfrequented country road, which was 
taking her she knew not where. Had she kept on the 
main road she must have reached protection, but this 
seemed to lead into an unsettled country. 

As quickly as this resolution was formed she essayed 
to carry it out. But her horse paid no attention to 
her attempts to turn him. Stiffening his powerful 
neck, he kept straight on. Her position in the saddle 
gave her little command over him, for it was as much 
as she could do to cling to her seat as he bounded 
beneath her. There was no help for it— she must go 
on, and go on to meet that man so swiftly crossing the 
field, making for a point where there was probably a 
gate or a break in the fence. But if she must go on, 
then must she go on like lightning, and pass that point 
before he reached it. 

She shook the reins with frantic haste, and fairly 
shouted in the horse’s ears. The animal was as greatly 
excited as his rider, and he seemed to know that he 
must not allow himself to be headed off. Thoroughly 
warmed by his previous running, he now gathered 
himself up and threw himself out with such quick and 
powerful action that Ardis felt as if she were sitting 
upon a steam-engine working at highest speed, every 
stroke of which thrilled and shook her. Dropping 
the reins, she clung with one hand to the horse’s mane 
and with the other to the pommel. 

The horse on which the man was riding across the 
field may have been tired and worn out when he 
reached the tavern, but he was surely an animal of 
good blood and bottom, for his frantic rider had worked 
him up into a surprising burst of speed. The two 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


horses rushed madly toward the disputed point, the 
man shouting wildly as he rode, and Ardis leaning 
forward and clinging fast, as if for dear life. But the 
freshness of her horse, if not his better blood, told well 
in this last mad rush, and he passed a break in the 
fence while the other animal was still fifty feet away 
from it. 

Ardis did not turn her head, but as she passed the 
man she leaned forward and shut her eyes, and as she 
did so she heard the crack of a pistol. The infuriated 
man, blinded by his rage, had fired, whether at the 
horse or at her he scarcely knew himself, but his aim 
was wild, and Ardis was already in such an excited 
condition that the report scarcely frightened her. As 
she sped quickly on, she felt that her escape had truly 
been made. After his frenzied rush over the fields the 
horse of her pursuer must be good for little in a chase 
after Roger’s noble beast. The pistol-shot could only 
have been an act of desperation, and it announced that 
the chase had been given up. 

Very soon after he had so successfully swept by the 
disputed point, Ardis’s horse somewhat slackened his 
gait. He still kept up a swift and even gallop, and 
Ardis felt that, should there be necessity for another 
burst of speed, he had within him the power to make 
it, but she feared no such necessity. Looking back, 
she saw no one in the road. In all probability, the 
man had not even left the field. 

But where was she now going? She knew not, but 
she would not stop until she had placed miles between 
herself and those men. And for miles she rode on, 
looking right and left for a house at which she might 
stop. Here and there were cabins, and once or twice 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


she passed a small house, but these were not the places 
she was looking for. She wanted to reach a farm, or 
some settlement where there were plenty of people 
about, but she gradually came to believe that she was 
not on the road to that sort of thing. 

The sun had set and it was growing dusky, and 
as she approached a moderate-sized house standing 
back from the road, Ardis almost involuntarily pulled 
on the bridle of her horse. But he paid no attention 
to the pull and galloped on. And now the animal 
began to toss his head and snort, as horses do when 
they approach their homes and behold visions of hay- 
racks and measures of grain. Ardis knew what this 
meant. She leaned forward so that her head rested 
on the horse’s neck. Her strengthening excitement 
had died out, but over her there stole a certain pleas- 
urable feeling. 

“He is going home,” she said to herself, “at least, to 
the place where he was last fed and cared for. It may 
be that he has been there a good while, and it may 
be that Roger is there ! ” She patted his neck. “ Good 
horse ! ” she said. “That is the reason you turned 
into this road, and that is the reason you would stop 
nowhere but at your stable.” 

And so, worn out and shaken as she was, speeding 
along that wild road in the dusk of the evening, Ardis 
felt a quieting happiness stealing over her. She knew 
that the friends she had left behind her at the tavern 
must be in a sad commotion. They could not know 
where she had gone or what had become of her, but 
they must know that angry men were in pursuit of 
her, and that the gravest dangers might beset her. 
But there was no help for it. She was as sorry for 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


them as it was possible for her to be, and would have 
done anything to let them know that she had escaped 
her pursuers and was on her way to a probable shelter 
and safety, and, possibly, to Roger. And so, while 
grieving for the grief and anxiety of her friends, she 
felt a sense of relief in body and mind, and wondered 
if she should really find Roger, or merely news of him 
which would enable her to find him. 


308 


CHAPTER XXIX 


It was growing dark when the horse on which Ardis 
had taken her long and perilous ride suddenly accel- 
erated his pace and then abruptly turned from the 
road. Ardis raised her head and saw that he was gal- 
loping up a lane toward a house where a light was 
shining. The horse did not go to the house, but turned 
off into a barn-yard littered with straw and corn-stalks 
and there he stopped, threw up his head, and whinnied. 
The moment he came to a halt, Ardis drew her foot 
from the stirrup and slipped to the ground. 

When first upon her feet she trembled so much that 
she feared she could not stand, but as a man came out 
of the open door some of her strength returned to her, 
and she made a few steps toward him. He did not 
give her a chance to speak. 

“Bless my soul ! ” he exclaimed. “If here ain’t Bis- 
cay ! Well, well ! Upon my word, I’m right-down 
glad to see that horse ! ” 

Then he turned to Ardis and looked upon her with 
a face of astonishment. The horse began to move toward 
the barn, but the man took hold of the bridle, still 
keeping his eyes fixed upon Ardis. 

“Whar did he come from ? 77 he exclaimed. “Did 
you fetch him ? And whar did you git him f Upon 
my word, I never reckoned this horse would be brought 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

back by a gal— and a little gal like you ! How did 
you come to do it f ” 

That Ardis, in her short dress, with her boy’s hat 
pulled down over her eyes to keep it from flying off, 
should be looked upon in the dim light of evening as 
a “gal ” was not surprising, but Ardis, tired as she was, 
could not restrain a little smile at the appellation. 
The man’s words greatly cheered her. The fact that 
she was at a place where the horse was known was a 
most encouraging point. 

“I can’t answer your questions now,” she said. “I 
am too tired. Is the owner of that horse here ? That 
is, is Mr. Hun worth here f ” 

The man looked at her a moment without answering. 
“Oho ! ” he then said, as if surprised that she should 
know the name of the horse’s owner. “No, he ain’t 
here.” 

Ardis’s heart fell. 

“He ain’t here jes’ now,” continued the man, “but 
I reckon he will be before long. He’s gone off with 
my man Bill to look for this horse, that was stole out 
of this barn airly this mornin’.” 

Now uprose the heart of Ardis in swelling, trium- 
phant joy. Boger was alive, well, and free ! Not until 
this moment did she understand how there had been 
lying coiled up within her a dreadful fear that he might 
not be alive, well, and free. She was about to speak, 
but her voice forsook her, and she was obliged to make 
a second attempt. 

“I should like,” she faltered out, “to wait for him.” 

“Wait?” said the man. “Of course you can wait, 
as long as you like. Jes’ stop a minute till I hitch 
this horse, an’ I’ll take you inside.” 

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Having thrown the bridle over a hook in the barn, 
the man rejoined her. “I reckon, if you’ve come any 
distance on that big horse, an’ no crutch to the saddle, 
you must be pretty well played out. Come on in. 
But I will say that I’m everlastin’ cur’ous to know how 
a gal like you came to fetch that horse here ! ” 

“I can’t tell you now,” said Ardis. “I must wait 
until Mr. Dunworth comes back.” 

“All right ! ” said the man, as he opened the house 
door. “If them’s your orders, we’ll have to wait. 
Here’s a gal who’s brought home the horse that was 
stole,” he said to his wife, a pleasant little woman who 
was busy helping a colored girl get supper. 

The wife was as much astonished as her husband 
had been, but when she looked upon that portion of 
Ardis’s pale face which was not covered by her hat, and 
noticed the weary way in which she dropped upon a 
chair, her amazement gave way to kindly solicitude. 

“By your looks,” she said, “you must be tired al- 
most to death. Supper’ll be ready directly, an’ when 
you’ve had a good meal you’ll feel stronger an’ ready 
to tell us the meanin’ of all this business.” 

“No,” said her husband, “she’s not to tell anybody 
till the owner of the horse comes. That’s pretty hard 
on us, but I reckon we’ll have to stick it out.” 

Ardis now spoke, and said she wanted nothing but a 
cup of coffee and a piece of bread, and then she would 
be very thankful if she might be allowed to lie down 
somewhere. 

“The coffee is purty nigh b’iled,” said the woman, 
“an’ you can have a cup in a minute.” 

“An’ I’ll step out,” said the man, “an’ give Biscay 
his feed. But I’ll jes’ say one thing before I go.” And 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


he now spoke without looking at Ardis. “I want it 
generally understood that no man who tries to steal 
that horse, or any other horse on this place, is goin’ to 
git away alive. Now that I know there’s horse-thieves 
about, I’m ready for ’em.” 

As the man closed the door his wife turned from the 
fire and looked at Ardis. “Do you mean to say,” she 
asked, “that anybody has put you under oath to say 
nothin’, ’cept to the owner of the horse ? ” 

Ardis shook her head. “I am under no oath,” she 
said, “but I cannot talk now.” 

It was Roger who should hear her story. Only to 
Roger could she tell it. 

When Ardis had finished her slight repast— and the 
strong coffee toned her up wonderfully— the woman 
said to her : “If I was you, I wouldn’t lay down nowhere 
in my clothes, but I’d jes’ go to bed an’ have a good 
night’s sleep. There’s a little room at the top of the 
stairs that I can git ready for you in three minutes. 
Mr. Dunworth set off, hot an’ heavy, after his horse 
before breakfas’ this mornin’, an’ it’s more’n as like as 
not that he won’t be back till to-morrow. He’s got to 
come back then, for he knows we can’t do without the 
horses no longer’ n that, an’ the ones he an’ Bill is 
ridin’ is all we’ve got. Jiminy ! he’ll be glad when 
he sees that horse, for I believe he thinks more of him 
than he would of a wife an’ baby ! ” 

After a moment’s thought Ardis agreed to the 
woman’s proposal. If Roger came back in the middle 
of the night it would be no time to talk to him, and as 
he could not possibly know who had brought back his 
horse, her secret would be safe until she should tell it 
in the morning. As she went up-stairs she asked which 
way Mr. Dunworth had gone. 

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“Straight up the road/’ said the woman, pointing in 
the opposite direction to that from which Ardis had 
come. “That’s the way the tracks p’inted.” 

“It is good,” thought Ardis, before she went to sleep, 
“it is very good that he went that way. He will come 
back disappointed, but that doesn’t matter now, and 
if he had gone the other way he might have come upon 
those three men. Now he is safe.” 

And, notwithstanding that she was alone in a little 
house in a wild country, among utter strangers, and 
that Dr. Lester and Mr. and Mrs. Chiverley must be 
almost distracted by her flight and continued absence, 
she stretched herself out on the hard and lumpy bed 
of “corn-shucks,” and nestled her head as well as she 
could into the unyielding hens’ -feathers pillow, and 
almost laughed in irrepressible joy. She had come to 
the very house where Roger was staying ! How he 
happened to be at this house mattered nothing to her. 
He was coming back to it— that was enough. With 
this thought banishing all others, she passed into happy 
dreams. 

Meantime the man and his wife were talking to- 
gether down-stairs. “It’s took away my appetite,” 
said the man, “took it clean away, a-thinkin’ an’ 
thinkin’ how on airth that horse come to be fetched 
back by a gal.” 

“That’s what’s been goin’ through my head,” said 
the woman, “like a shuttle, back’ards an’ for’ards, 
ever sence I set eyes on her.” 

“The only notion I can lay hold of,” said her hus- 
band, “is that the rascal who took the horse was afraid 
to keep him,— for anybody who’d once seen him would 
know him again,— an’ has sent him back with some sort 
of a cock-an’-bull story to get money out of Mr. Dun- 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


worth— an’ they sent a gal because nobody would be 
likely to hurt a gal, an’ if they’d sent a man he might 
have been nabbed or shot, one.” 

“I don’t reckon,” said the woman, “from the look of 
her, that she’s mixed up with no horse- thieves— at 
least, from her own free will an’ likin’. Anyway, if she 
is mixed up with ’em, I should say she’s the daughter of 
one of ’em, an’ she’s not to be blamed for that, for her 
own free will an’ likin’ had nothin’ to do with it. Of 
course she’s after money an’ wants to bargain with the 
owner an’ nobody else. But I’ve an idee that she found 
out whar that horse belonged, an’ brought him back of 
her own accord.” 

* 

“If that’s what she’s done,” said the man, “I pity her 
when she gits back to them fellers.” 

“I reckon she’s got that all straightened out,” said 
the woman. “She’s no fool. I could tell that by the 
way she wouldn’t talk.” 

“It’s more’n likely that’s so,” said the man. “An’ 
then, again, she mayn’t ha’ took the horse from her 
folks. P’r’aps they sold him, an’ she stole him from 
the man that bought him. Some o’ them gals is pow- 
erful sharp, specially when they’ve been brought up 
to it ! ” 

“Well,” said the woman, “we may know the rights 
of it, and then, again, we may never know, for Mr. 
Dunworth likes mighty well to keep things to himself, 
an’ he mayn’t care to tell ns what sort o’ bargain he 
makes with the gal.” 

“Oh, go ’long!” said the man. “He’ll tell me all 
about it, you bet, though he mayn’t care to trust his 
concarns with a woman.” 

The wife arose and set about finishing up the work 
314 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


for the day, a gentle smile of superior knowledge flit- 
ting across her thin face. 

The commotion in the tavern when Ardis rode away 
on Roger’s horse was very great. Mrs. Chiverley had 
heard the sounds of galloping, and almost immediately 
the shouts of the men, and had hurried out to the 
piazza, where she plainly saw her young friend dashing 
away upon her flying steed. This sight almost stupe- 
fied her with amazement, and when she saw the two 
men mount and ride madly after Ardis, she became 
dreadfully frightened and began to scream for her hus- 
band and Dr. Lester. These gentlemen,' however, had 
not returned, and the poor lady rushed wildly here 
and there, calling for some one to go after the young 
lady and bring her back. 

The landlord of the tavern could give her no help, 
and, indeed, he scarcely paid any attention to her. It 
was all he could do to keep the stranger who had been 
left without a horse from laying violent hands upon 
him. In fact, had it not been for the presence of two 
or three negroes employed about the place, it is prob- 
able that the frantic assertions of the little man that 
he had nothing to do with the young woman’s action, 
and that he had not the least idea in the world what 
it meant, would not have availed to save him from his 
angry accuser. 

When Dr. Lester and Mr. Chiverley returned, the 
latter found his wife in an utterly prostrated condition 
on a chair on the piazza, and great as was his concern 
at the astonishing thing that was told him, he did not 
stop to ask questions, but hurried to her assistance. 

With pale face and trembling hands, Dr. Lester 
315 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


listened to the landlord’s excited statements. He 
could not divine the meaning of what had happened, 
but he instantly decided what must be done : Ardis 
must be followed without a moment’s delay. It was use- 
less to speak to Mr. Chiverley. He had seen the latter 
carrying his wife into the house, and knew he could 
not leave her. He hurried to the stable, but was there 
dismayed by the information that the man who had 
been left horseless had quietly gone off on the better 
horse of the two which had been hired in Atlanta. 
The other animal was in an utterly worthless condi- 
tion, and there were no other horses in the stable. 

When he discovered the situation, the doctor, his 
face still pale but his hands no longer trembling, asked 
which way the lady had gone, and immediately set out 
on foot, his long strides carrying him nearly as rapidly 
as the moderate trot of a horse. The occupants of a 
cabin near the fork of the road told him that the lady 
and one man had gone up the road to the left, and this 
road the doctor followed, sometimes breaking into a 
little run, and then falling back into his long, steady 
stride. His mind did not dwell upon the fact that only 
one man had followed Ardis, nor at the time did he 
try to comprehend why any man should follow her, or 
why she should take this road or that one, or why 
she should have gone away at all. He only considered 
that this was the road she had taken, and that if it 
were possible to get along faster, he must do it. 

For a long time the doctor walked, and as he walked 
there gradually came into his mind a dim notion of 
Ardis’s motive in this most extraordinary proceeding. 
He knew she would never hesitate to do the thing she 
thought she ought to do because danger might accom- 
316 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


pany the doing of it, but he also knew that she was 
not one who would incur danger, such as she must have 
incurred that evening, unless there were a very good 
reason for it. Of course the whole affair must, in some 
way, be connected with Roger Dunworth. Nothing 
else in this part of the world could be of sufficient 
importance to make her do as she had done without 
a word to any one. It was possible that she might 
have heard that Roger was in sore trouble,— perhaps 
about to be hung,— and that she had taken the first 
horse she had met with to fly to his rescue. Had he 
or Mr. Chiverley been there, she might have spoken 
to them. Why, oh, why was he not there ! 

As he hurried along the doctor looked eagerly ahead 
of him, but no sign could he see of a female figure 
coming toward him. His hope was to come up with 
Ardis where she might stop, or to meet her returning. 
His fear was that some disaster to her would permit 
him to overtake her. He met no one, and there were 
but few houses on the road. At each of these, how- 
ever, he made inquiries. A colored woman told him 
she had seen a horse running away with somebody on 
his back. 

“ Was any one following ? ” eagerly asked the doctor, 

“No, sah,” said the woman, “an’ it wouldn’t ’a’ been 
no good if dey had. Hey couldn’t ketch dat hoss ! 
Lawsee ! how he was gwine ! I done reckon de boy 
on he back done frighten him wid a bahskit. Hey’s 
some hosses can’t stand no bahskits on dey backs.” 

“Was there a boy on the horse? ” asked the doctor, 
in surprise. 

“Can’t say fer sartin, sah, de hoss go so fas’. It 
mought ’a’ been a boy, an’ den again it mought ’a’ been 
317 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


a gal, an’ mought ’a’ been a meal-bag dat frightened 
de hoss, an’ not a bahskit.” 

The doctor stayed for no more surmises, and walked 
on. If the figure on the flying horse were really Ardis, 
what had become of the man who had pursued her up 
the road ? The doctor had passed no roads nor lanes 
diverging from the one he was on, and when, a mile 
or two back, he had passed the break in the fence 
through which the man on the slower horse had joined 
his companion in the fields, it had offered him no hints 
in regard to the situation. 

When he had mounted a long hill he came upon a 
barn, from an upper floor of which a colored man was 
throwing dry fodder to some cows in a yard. The 
house to which the barn belonged was not visible, but 
probably lay behind a mass of evergreens a quarter of 
a mile back from the road. When the doctor stopped 
at the barn the man stopped in his work. He was an 
intelligent negro, and proved himself able to give 
some coherent information. He had seen a girl riding 
like wild-fire on a big bay horse. There was nobody 
following her ; he had been about the barn ever since 
she had passed, and knew that she had not been fol- 
lowed. He supposed that she was going for the doctor. 
He reckoned she was going after old Dr. Jessup, who 
lived at Hammersville. There was a doctor a good 
deal nearer, but he reckoned he’d gone away some- 
where. 

“ Where is Hammersville?” asked Dr. Lester. 

“You jes’ foller this road,” said the negro, “till you 
git to the mountain, an’ den you crosses ober de moun- 
tain, an’ when you git to de bottom-lands you come to 
a big branch wid a bridge ober it, an’ den you keep 
318 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


straight along,— can’t make no mistake, sah, ’cause de 
road don’t fork,— an’ den yo’ come to a lot o’ hills, an’ 
when you done gone ober dem you kin see Hammers- 
ville, if it ain’t too dark.” 

“And how far is Hammersville f ” asked the doctor. 

“It’s about twenty miles from here, sah. Dat’s wot 
dey calls it, sah.” 

The doctor stood silent a moment, and then, with a 
few words of thanks, passed on. 

The negro looked after him. “Bless my soul ! ” he 
ejaculated. “To put off like dat jes’ when I was 
gwine ter ask him who dat gal was, an’ who was sick, 
an’ what he was gwine after her fer ! ” 

The doctor walked on for some twenty minutes, and 
then he stopped. “Where is the good of it ? ” he asked 
himself. He had already walked at a great pace some 
seven or eight miles, and this, too, after a long tramp 
with Mr. Chiverley. He was a good pedestrian, but 
he could feel that his strength was giving out. That 
Ardis had gone to Hammersville he did not doubt. 
It was from such a little town that she would be likely 
to hear news of Roger, and only in such a place, where 
there were people to be called upon, could she render 
him any assistance. In a case like this she would not 
hesitate at a ride of twenty-eight or thirty miles, but 
as for himself, it would be impossible for him to walk 
to Hammersville that night. He hoped, he tried hard 
to believe, that she would reach her destination in 
safety, and in a town she would certainly find persons 
to take care of her. The fact that the men had ceased 
to follow her was a great relief to him. He sat down 
upon a stone to rest. It was growing dark, and he 
could see no house nor light ahead of him. He deter- 
319 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


mined to go back to the barn where he had spoken 
to the negro, and ask the man to take him to the 
house occupied by the owner of the farm. There 
he might obtain refreshment, and hire a horse and 
vehicle to carry him to Hammersville. But when he 
reached the barn he found it deserted. The man had 
gone away. 

The doctor went through a gate into a roughly worn 
road which he supposed would lead him to the house, 
but he had not walked more than a dozen steps before 
he suddenly stopped. At a distance, and apparently 
from the mass of evergreens, which now stood black 
against the sky, he heard the baying of a dog. Dr. 
Lester was a brave man, and had done things at which 
many brave men would hesitate, but the exception to 
his bravery was his fear of dogs. Reason as he might, 
and for a few moments he did reason with great earnest- 
ness, he could not prevail upon himself to go up alone, 
through the shades of evening, to that house, around 
which several fierce hounds might be prowling. He 
was even afraid to stay where he was for fear they 
should come upon him, and he made his way back to 
the barn as a place of security. 

The barn doors were shut and fastened, but the 
doctor saw an open window not far from the ground, 
through which he clambered. He found himself in a 
stable, and, by the faint light which came through the 
window, he could see that it was a large one, and that 
there were no animals in it. He looked about him a 
few moments to find a place where he might sit down ; 
and then he closed the window-shutter to prevent the 
dogs from following him. He now felt his way to a 
stall in which he had noticed a pile of hay or straw. 

320 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


On this he sat down to think, but he had not thought 
for five minutes before his head fell forward and he 
began to doze. 

In about an hour he awoke, feeling very cold. He 
was surrounded by pitchy darkness, and his only 
thought was to get himself warm. He remembered, 
while feeling his way to the stall, his hand had touched 
a horse-blanket, or some heavy cloth, hanging on a nail. 
He groped about for this, and at length found it. 
Wrapping himself up in it, he lay down upon the 
straw. 

“What can I do?” he said to himself. “I can do 
nothing but wait until morning.” And, while con- 
sidering what this necessity might entail, he fell into a 
heavy sleep, broken by anxious dreams and sudden 
shiverings. But despite the troubled restlessness of his 
brain, and despite the cold night wind which came in 
through the many cracks and crevices of the barn, the 
doctor slept on. He was very tired. 

At the tavern on the main road, which had been 
closed up very early that night, the little proprietor 
was sitting behind his bar, cleaning and loading a 
large revolver, and bemoaning his unparalleled bad 
luck to two of his men, whom he had called upon to 
spend the night in the house and help him to defend 
himself and his property, if the need should arise. 
Such a thing had never happened to him before, nor 
had it ever happened to anybody, so far as he knew. 
Indeed, he believed it to be an unheard-of calamity. 
To have a horse stolen from before his door, in broad 
daylight, was a blow to his reputation and his business 
which might utterly destroy both. And stolen by a 
321 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


girl ! Was such a thing ever known in this wide 
world ? What sort of people these were, who had come 
to him as respectable guests, he did not know, and what 
might happen next he could not imagine ! 

Up -stairs, Mr. Chiverley was sitting by his wife’s 
bedside. When night came on, and Ardis returned 
not, she had become hysterical, and poor Harry Chiv- 
erley had his hands full. Chilled to the heart by his 
fears for Ardis,— fears which were aggravated by his 
utter inability to understand the situation,— he could 
do nothing but stay here and help his wife support 
the blow. It was impossible to leave her. Under the 
influence of an anodyne, Mrs. Chiverley at last slept, 
but her husband did not undress, nor close his eyes, 
that night. 

In the little room at the head of the stairs in that 
lonely house to which, in swift, ungovernable flight, 
she had been brought by Roger’s horse, Ardis lay in 
happy dreams. Her mind was capable of keenly ap- 
preciating the distress of the friends on whom had 
fallen the sudden shock of her unexplained and 
alarming escapade, but no thought of all this ventured 
in among the rosy fancies which filled her sleeping 
mind. Before her passed the bright and joyous scenes 
of an endless drama, the title of which was “Roger is 
Coming ! ” 


322 


CHAPTEK XXX 


It was very early the next morning when Ardis was 
awakened by some one standing by her bed. It was 
the woman of the house. 

“ You’d better git up/’ she said. “He’s come ! ” 

“Who?” exclaimed Ardis, sitting up suddenly. 

“The owner of the horse— Mr. Dunworth,” said the 
woman. “He come back some time in the middle of 
the night— I don’t know when. An’ it’s a good thing 
our man Bill give a shout when they got here, for 
Elick — that’s my husband — might ha’ shot ’em, for he 
had his gun all ready, an’ his head was full of horse- 
thieves. Mr. Dunworth was mightily tickled when he 
found his horse had been brought back, an’ he’s on 
pins an’ needles to see you. He’s been up half an 
hour.” 

Ardis’s face was as rosy as her dreams of the past 
night. 

“Your sleep has freshened you up pow’ful,” said 
the woman. “You’d better come down quick.” 

Ardis did not answer. Her heart was beating fast, 
and her dark eyes, filled with sparkling light, were 
fixed upon the wall opposite to her. “Oh, Mrs. — ! ” she 
suddenly exclaimed, and then she stopped. “Do 
you know, I never thought to ask your name?” 

323 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“It’s Kisley,” said the woman. 

“Oh, Mrs. Kisley,” said Ardis, in an entreating voice, 
“can’t you lend me a dress or a skirt? Almost any- 
thing will do that is clean, and long enough. I can’t 
go down to him in the clothes I wore yesterday. The 
skirt is dreadfully torn, and covered with mud-splashes. 
After my last night’s ride I wasn’t fit to be seen ! ” 

“Oh, bless me ! ” said Mrs. Kisley, “you needn’t 
bother your head about nothin’ of that sort. He’s 
none of your stuck-up gentlemen. He’s a plain, com- 
mon-sense young man, an’, if he makes a bargain with 
you for fetchin’ back his horse, he won’t take no ’count 
of what sort o’ duds you’ve got on.” 

“I cannot go down to meet that gentleman,” said 
Ardis, “in the clothes I wore last night. Hear Mrs. 
Kisley, you must lend me something that will make 
me look at least decent.” 

“Well,” said the other, “if you’ve set your mind on 
it, I s’pose there’s no turnin’ you. You look like a gal 
that’s in the habit of havin’ her own way. An’ a good- 
lookin’ one, too ! ” she thought to herself, though pru- 
dently refraining from expressing this opinion aloud. 
“There’s some of my sister’s clothes in that closet. 
She’s sixteen, an’ p’r’aps they’ll fit you. We haven’t 
got no chillun, an’ she lives with us. But she’s gone 
away now to stay with mother, an’ that’s the reason 
you kin have this room, which is hern. If you kin 
find anything you really want, you kin borry it, but 
don’t spend no time fixin’ up. ’Tain’t fair to keep Mr. 
Hunworth waitin’ a minute longer than kin be helped.” 

The moment Mrs. Kisley left the room, Ardis sprang 
to the floor and began an eager investigation of the 
closet. 


324 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


She found a pink calico dress of rather voluminous 
drapery, but neat and clean, and on the floor was a 
pair of slippers but little worn, and, apparently, out- 
grown by the wearer of the gown. In a bureau drawer 
she discovered some collars and cuffs, and other little 
articles belonging to the holiday costume of the absent 
sister. With these treasures she proceeded to make a 
rapid toilet, and this was barely finished when Mrs. 
Kisley again entered. She was not accustomed to 
knocking, and simply opened the door and walked in. 
When her eyes fell upon Ardis, she gave a gasp and 
sat down heavily upon a chair near the door. 

W ell might she sit in dumb amazement. The rough, 
unkempt, and road-stained girl of the night before had 
changed into the most beautiful woman on whom her 
eyes had ever rested. The pink calico gown, some- 
what too large for her, had been draped and fastened 
about her without any regard to the intents of its 
maker. A broad belt formed of a gray silk scarf held 
it around her waist, and a lace-trimmed handkerchief 
was pinned into a bow at her throat, while the neat 
slippers showed beneath the simple folds into which 
the skirt had been quickly drawn. 

But the glory of this apparition was the hair. Here 
was the crowning, transforming touch. Under the 
unshapen felt hat the “gal” of the night before had 
had a tightly packed mass of hair, which was no more 
likely to attract attention than the ordinary hair of a 
boy. How the dark mass, combed out and coiled at 
the top of the head, with airy little curls playing over 
the forehead, not only was a beauty in itself, but it 
gave to the face that full measure of loveliness which 
made it the face of Ardis Claverden. 

325 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Ardis smiled as she looked upon the dazed counte- 
nance of Mrs. Kisley. “You think I am a good deal 
changed, don’t you ? ” she said. 

“Changed ! ” ejaculated the woman. “I should say 
so ! At first I thought you’d been doin’ something to 
yourself, but now I reckon you’ve only been undoin’. 
You must look like that always, don’t you? ” 

“Yes,” said Ardis. “As I am a woman, I like to look 
one, except on special occasions, when I don’t object to 
being considered a girl.” 

“But you don’t belong to no— to no horse people? ” 
said Mrs. Kisley. 

Ardis did not understand what this meant, but she 
felt that it was necessary that she should, in a measure 
at least, explain the situation to Mrs. Kisley. “I will 
tell you after a while,” she said, “how I happened to 
come here on Mr. Dunworth’s horse. But I must go 
down to him now, and I can only say to you that he is 
a very dear friend of mine, and I wish to see him by 
himself.” 

“Are you goin’ to marry him?” asked Mrs. Kisley. 

This blunt question brought a quick flush to the 
face of Ardis, but it also brought a flash of light into 
her eyes, and a half-smile to her lips. 

“You needn’t say nothin’,” said Mrs. Kisley. “I 
know ! ” 

Ardis hurried down-stairs. As she opened the door 
which led into the living-room below stairs, Roger 
Dunworth stood with his back toward her and his hand 
upon the latch of an outer door. He had grown tired 
of waiting for the person who had brought his horse, 
and was going out to the barn. At the sound of the 
opening door he turned, and then, with a sudden start, 
326 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


he stepped back, his shoulders striking the wall. His 
face flushed, and his mouth opened as if he would ex- 
claim, but no sound passed his lips. 

Ardis closed the door behind her. “How do you do, 
Roger?” she said, advancing with outstretched hand. 
“You look more astonished than Mrs. Kisley !” 

Roger made a step forward. “You!” he gasped. 
“Ardis? Here?” 

“Yes,” said she, “it is I, Ardis, here. Don’t you 
intend to shake hands with me ? And now sit down, 
and I will tell you the whole thing as fast as ever I 
can.” 

Roger mechanically sat down upon a chair which 
Ardis pushed toward him, while she took another near 
by and began rapidly to sketch out the story of her 
coming. At first Roger scarcely comprehended a word 
that she said. His brain was filled with whirling 
thought which seemed unable to catch or recognize 
that this was the woman who had cast him off, that 
this was Ardis Claverden ; that she was here in this 
wild spot alone, that she had brought his horse ! His 
reason could not cope with any of these ideas. They 
raged upon him like beasts that had broken from their 
cages. 

But in a very short time the clear, straightforward 
story told by Ardis began to impress itself upon him, 
and it was not long before he knew how it was that 
she had come here. But there was something more 
difficult to comprehend than this. 

“I don’t understand,” he said, interrupting her be- 
fore she had finished. “Why should you come ? And 
for me ? What of him ? Does he know ? ” 

Ardis rose to her feet. “Roger Dun worth,” said 
327 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


she, “you are thinking of Mr. Surrey ! We will not 
talk of him now, but I will simply say that everything 
you have thought of or done in regard to him is utterly 
without reason or foundation. I expected Dr. Lester 
to tell you this and explain the whole matter to you. 
Now I may do it myself. But that can wait. It is 
enough for you to know it is all a mistake.” 

For an instant the mind of Roger Dunworth turned 
back to those things about which he was asked to con- 
sider himself mistaken, but it could not stay there. 
Looking at Ardis Claverden as she now stood before 
him, he could not think of her anywhere else, nor with 
any one else. That she was here was everything just 
now. 

He rose and stood before her. A sudden fire ran 
through every nerve. “Ardis,” he said, “you would 
not have done all this— you would not have come down 
here— for my sake— if you had not loved me ! ” 

The eyes of Ardis fell. How suddenly people came 
to this point ! Even Mrs. Kisley jumped at it. But 
this was no time for delays and preparations. Things 
came quickly and must be met quickly. She raised 
her eyes to his. They were very beautiful eyes, with 
a sparkle in them. 

“Of course not,” she said. 

Mrs. Kisley, who was looking through the keyhole 
of the inner door, now began to shed some gentle tears. 
These were caused by recollections. Not that anything 
had ever happened to her like that which was hap- 
pening on the other side of the door, for Elick Kisley 
was not that sort of man, but her youth had not so 
long passed but that she could easily remember it, and 
her recollections were of things which she used to 
328 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


dream about, and which she hoped would some day 
happen to her, but which never did. 

She soon ceased to look. One cannot see very well 
through a keyhole when one’s eyes are filled with 
tears. She stepped softly to the stairs, and sitting 
upon the lower step, she wiped her eyes with the back 
of her hand. Then she arose. “I must go and find 
Elick,” she said to herself, “an’ keep him from cornin’ 
into the house. He mustn’t come in jes’ yet.” 

She went noiselessly out of a side door, and found 
her husband in the barn. There she told him every- 
thing that had happened, from the transformation 
scene to the enrapturing finale. “You must wait 
awhile,” she said, “an’ then you must make a noise 
outside before you go in. An’ you mustn’t go in with- 
out your coat on, Elick. Bless my soul ! Never in 
all your life was you in the same house with such a 
woman as she is ! ” 

Elick Kisley was very much impressed by what he 
had heard. He did not exactly comprehend what had 
taken place, but he knew there was a lady in his house 
before whom he must not appear in his shirt sleeves. 
Persons in whose presence he was obliged to wear a 
coat always had a very depressing effect upon him. 

“I must go an’ see about the breakfas’,” said Mrs. 
Kisley. “I reckon they must be about through now.” 

And Mrs. Kisley hurried to the kitchen, her mind 
troubled, as she went, for fear that the colored girl she 
had left there had been peeping in upon the lovers. 

A little later, Mrs. Kisley, after some preliminary 
fumbling at the latch of the door between the kitchen 
and the living-room, as if it were an unfamiliar latch 
and she did not know exactly how it worked, opened 
329 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


said door, and remarked : “We are goin’ to bring in 
breakfas’ now, an’ I reckon you-all’s about ready for 
it.” 

Ardis and Roger were sitting side by side, a little 
apart. Her hands were in her lap, but the arm of 
Roger nearest Ardis hung by his side as if it had been 
suddenly dropped. 

“Breakfast ! ” said Ardis, starting to her feet. “You 
may be sure I am ready for it, for I have not had any 
regular meal since yesterday in the middle of the day. 
And, Roger, just as soon as possible after breakfast we 
must get back, in some way or other, to the tavern 
where Hr. Lester and the Chiverleys are. I really 
do not dare to think of the state of anxiety they 
must be in ! But I am sure their delight in seeing 
you safe and sound will make amends for all their 
worry.” 

When Mr. Kisley came in to breakfast he gave one 
glance at Ardis, and then, with downcast eyes, went up 
to her and shook hands, as if she had just arrived. 
His well-worn coat was buttoned up to his chin, and 
his long, black hair, thoroughly wet and combed and 
plastered down, hung in stiff perpendicularity around 
his head. He said but little, as he sat at the table, 
but now and again he heaved a heavy sigh. Not that 
there was anything the matter with him, but that he 
must show in some way that he felt at home, and this 
was the most off-hand action that came into his mind 
at the time. 

In the course of the somewhat hurried meal, Roger 
made an arrangement with his host for a light wagon 
in which he and Miss Claverden could go to the tavern 
where their friends were staying. His own horse 
330 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


would draw them, and the negro man could be sent 
later, with another horse, to bring back the wagon. 

When Ardis had pushed back her chair from the 
breakfast- table, she took Mrs. Kisley aside. “I must go 
up -stairs and put on my own clothes,’’ she said, a and per- 
haps you will help me to get them into decent order.” 

Mrs. Kisley assured her that she might wear Mal- 
vina’s garments as long as she liked, but Ardis declined 
this offer. A stitch or two and some brushing would 
make her own clothes do very well. 

“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Kisley, vigorously brushing the 
dirty skirt. “Those duds are good enough for trav’l- 
lin’, but I don’t wonder you wanted somethin’ better 
to pop in on a sweetheart with. And how did you 
know he was here ? An’ where did you git the horse ? ” 

As the brushing, the stitching, and the change of 
attire went rapidly on, Ardis gave Mrs. Kisley an out- 
line of what had occurred, and no invented story could 
have so completely amazed that good woman. 

When Roger came into the house to say that the 
vehicle was ready, he found Ardis sitting in the living- 
room. “Oho ! ” he cried. “Here is another young 
lady ! And where in the world have you come from ? ” 

“I came from Bald Hill,” said Ardis, demurely cast- 
ing down her eyes, “and these are the clothes I used 
to wear when I went tramping around the country 
with a young man in our neighborhood, looking for 
things to sketch.” 

How well Roger remembered her in that dress ! 
How well he remembered those days of tramping and 
sketching ! “And this little girl,” said he, “is she of 
the same way of thinking as the young lady I met this 
morning ? ” 


331 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


♦ “Yes,” said Ardis, “they think very much alike, and 
although you cannot have the pleasure of helping the 
other one into your wagon, this one will pop in with- 
out any help at all, if you are not very quick, sir.” 

As they were taking leave, Mrs. Kisley drew Ardis 
aside. “It’s no use try in’ — you can’t do it. Clothes 
won’t do it, nothin’ won’t do it. You can’t never make 
yourse’f the gal you was las’ night.” 

“Why ? ” asked Ardis, gently. 

“On account o’ Mm,” said Mrs. Kisley, nodding in 
the direction of Roger. 

Ardis made no answer, but drew close to Mrs. Kisley 
and kissed her. 

Tears came into Mrs. Kisley’s eyes, and when the 
two had driven away, she went and sat down on the 
bottom step, near the keyhole through which she had 
seen what she used to dream about. To her this would 
henceforth be the one spot beloved in all the house. 

Her thoughts were suddenly summoned from their 
wanderings by the voice of her husband, and she rose 
quickly and went into the living-room. Mr. Kisley 
still wore his coat, his hair remained plastered down, 
and his air of depression had not entirely left him. 

“Look here,” said he, “whar did she git them 
clothes ? She didn’t bring no baggage.” 

“They was Malvina’s clothes,” said Mrs. Kisley. 

“Malvina’s clothes ! ” exclaimed her husband. “An’ 
if she had ’em, why on airth did she never wear ’em ? ” 

Mrs. Kisley knew that the clothes had been often 
worn, but they had been worn by Malvina. 


332 


CHAPTER XXXI 


It was still early in the morning when Roger Dun- 
worth and Ardis left the abode of the Kisleys. Biscay, 
who was not used to doing work between shafts, and 
objected to even a light wagon, showed a decided dis- 
inclination to accommodate himself to circumstances. 
But when he became convinced that the reins were in 
the hands of a man who was determined to have his 
own way in the matter, he set off at a bounding trot, 
thinking, probably, that the faster he went, the sooner 
he would get through with this disagreeable business. 
The horse could not go too fast for those who rode 
behind him. These two had done very much in the 
brief part of the morning which had passed, and now 
they wished to go with all haste to make their friends 
as happy as themselves. 

On the way Roger told his story. It seemed a very 
simple and unimportant one to him, compared to that 
which Ardis had told. On his reasons for going from 
home he touched but lightly. To his mind, it had ap- 
peared that every one must know as well as he knew 
that it was an absolute impossibility for him to stay 
there and see Ardis happy with another. 

During the latter part of his exile he had begun— or 
thought he had begun— to inure his soul to what it had 
333 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


to expect for the rest of his life, and his wanderings 
had had for an object what Dr. Lester had surmised. 
If he could have found a place in this part of the coun- 
try which pleased him, he would have been glad to 
buy it, lease his old home, and make an abiding-place 
in which he believed it would be wiser for him to live 
than in the house where it had been the aim of his 
manhood to live with Ardis. 

It was so plain, from what he said, and from the 
straightforward, earnest way in which he said it, that 
to live with Ardis was the only life he thought worth 
living, that the soul of the girl beside him glowed 
with gladness because she had been steadfast in her 
purpose, and because he now knew that he was to spend 
his life with her. Much had happened— it seemed as 
if years had passed— since he had told his love and 
received no answer. But she had had faith that when 
she came to him with her answer she would find him 
steadfast, and she had found him so. 

Regarding the mistakes he had made Roger said 
nothing at all. Ardis had assured him they were 
mistakes, and that was the end of it. Even to think 
of them made his soul shiver 5 to speak of them was 
unnecessary torture. A man as happy as he was could 
afford to bury such dead things in a very deep grave, 
and to leave the spot without stone or mark. 

He had been at Kisley’s for a week, and had expected, 
in a day or two, to start thence on his way toward 
Atlanta. But the theft of his horse had changed all 
his plans, and it had been his intention to go this 
morning, in search of Biscay in a direction which would 
have taken him far away from the friends who were 
looking for him. 


334 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

As to the pursuit of himself as a horse-thief, he had 
never known of it until Ardis told him that morning. 
What might have happened to him in this almost wild 
region made his heart shudder $ what had happened 
made it bound with joy and pride. He turned to 
Ardis, and took her hand. They were on an open 
road, and he could only take her hand. 

And so Biscay trotted vigorously and rapidly on- 
ward, often breaking into a run, from which, how- 
ever, he was quickly brought up by Roger ; and 
although the road was not altogether a smooth one, 
little cared the two young people, sitting side by side 
on the single seat of the light wagon, for jolts and 
bumps. They had come from roads which were rough 
and hard, to one which, in the minds of these happy 
lovers, lay before them as smooth as the surface of a 
placid lake, and the occasional ruts and stones of the 
actual way beneath them were as nothing. 

The rattling noise of a rapidly passing vehicle awoke 
Dr. Lester, who sat up suddenly on his pile of straw and 
shivered as he looked vacantly about him. For a few 
moments the only thing of which his mind was positive 
was that he was very cold ; but just as it began to dawn 
upon him why he was there, the negro man whom he 
had seen the night before looked in at the stable door. 

“It's right smart late, sah, to wake you up, sah, but 
you did sleep so soun’ dat I couldn’t bear to ’sturb you.” 

“I was very tired,” said the doctor, throwing off his 
blanket and rising to his feet. 

“If you’d come up to de house, sah,” said the negro, 
“dey’d gib you a good bed, but I s’pect you was afraid 
ob de dogs.” 


335 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


The doctor nodded, and the man continued : 

“Dem dogs does keep off tramps, an’ watermelon 
thieves, an’ ’spectable pussons, all in a lump. I’d ha’ 
took you up myself if I’d ha’ known you was gwine ter 
stop. But wot I come in to wake you up an’ tell you, 
sah, is dat de young ’oman who rode by las’ night, an’ 
wot you was lookin’ for, has jes’ gone back ag’in in a 
waggin wid a strange doctor— at least, I neber seed him 
afore. So I reckon, sah, dat if de sick pusson didn’t 
die in de night, he’ll be all right now, an’ you kin make 
your min’ easy about him.” 

After some earnest and rapid inquiries, the doctor 
became convinced that Ardis was really on her way 
back to the inn, although in whose company he could 
not imagine. He did not deem it necessary to explain 
to the negro that she had not gone after a doctor, and 
declining the man’s invitation to go to the house and 
get some breakfast, he prepared to follow the wagon. 

“It’s a mighty bad shame, sah,” said the negro, “dat 
dey didn’t know you was in heah, fer dey might ha’ 
stopped an’ took you into de waggin. Whar is you 
gwine, sah?” 

The doctor mentioned the tavern where he had 
stopped the day before, and the man told him of a 
road through the woods which would save him at 
least two miles of walking. And, with a gratuity to 
the good-intentioned negro, he set out on his return to 
his party. 

When he reached the point which had been indi- 
cated to him, Dr. Lester climbed a fence and took a 
foot-path through the woods. He was not in a happy 
mood. He did not experience the relief from anxiety 
and consequent elevation of spirits which, as might 
336 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


naturally be supposed, would come to him from a 
knowledge of Ardis’s safety. If his legs had not been 
so stiff, if his whole body had not felt so chilled that 
even exercise did not warm him, if he had had any- 
thing to eat since the middle of the day before, his 
mind might have been in a more hopeful condition. 

The negro’s statement that he had seen Ardis go 
back in a wagon was reason enough to make the doctor 
hasten to the inn without even the delay of a proffered 
breakfast. But the man might have been mistaken, 
and even if it were she who was being taken back in the 
wagon, the doctors mind was racked by thoughts that 
she might now be plunged in grief, and going back 
with the saddest news to tell. 

The morning sky was covered with an unbroken 
expanse of grayish clouds, and although these had 
seemed to shine upon the lovers in the light wagon as 
if they had been polished steel, they presented no 
such appearance to Dr. Lester. Their gray gloom 
helped to sadden a world which already seemed gloomy 
enough to this anxious, shivering, weary, true-hearted 
gentleman. 

After walking about half a mile, the doctor came to 
a little stream, and he had scarcely stepped across it 
to follow the path which led around the roots of a 
great oak-tree upon the other side, when he was sud- 
denly confronted by two men. He stopped short. The 
men were respectably dressed, although their clothes 
were spattered with mud and their soft felt hats were 
pulled down over their faces. They were silent, and 
neither of them moved limb or muscle. Even the cold 
morning wind which blew down the little stream did 
not sway them as they hung side by side from an out- 
337 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


stretching limb of the great oak-tree. On the coat of 
one of them was pinned a paper on which were printed 
with a lead-pencil these words : 

HUNG FOR HORSE -STEALING 
LOOK OUT, OTHER FELLOW 

There was no signature. 

For a moment the doctor stood appalled, a cold 
moisture bursting out upon his hands and upon his 
pallid face. Then a horrible, sickening fear came over 
him. Could one of these be the man for whom Ardis 
had come down here to search ? 

The inscription on the paper had been read at a 
glance, for the characters were large and distinct, but 
a glance was not enough to prove to the trembling 
doctor that neither of these men was Roger Dunworth. 

A minute later the doctor staggered away. The 
effects of the shock were still upon him, but this hor- 
rible fear had been uplifted from his soul. The men 
were strangers to him. 

Now there came upon Dr. Lester a wild desire to 
get away, and he began to run, and did not slacken 
his pace until he was out of the woods and on the main 
road. A suspicion that the danger might not yet be 
over, and that the u other fellow 7 ’ mentioned in the 
inscription might be Roger, came upon him as he 
walked rapidly onward. But further consideration 
made him hope, and almost believe, that the three 
horsemen of whom he had heard but had not seen, and 
on one of whose horses Ardis had gone away, were, in 
reality, the thieves, and before he reached the inn his 
mind had begun to quiet itself from the tumult into 
338 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


which it had been thrown by what he had seen in the 
woods. But his anxiety for Ardis could not be quieted 
until he had looked on her, safe and sound. 

When Dr. Lester entered the parlor of the tavern, 
he was greeted with a loud shout from Roger Dunworth, 
who sprang forward to meet him and seized him by 
both hands. To Roger’s expressions of hearty delight 
the doctor made no answer. Tears came into his eyes, 
and he sat down upon the nearest chair. On the other 
side of the room he saw Ardis, bright as a star in 
heaven. Near by sat Mrs. Chiverley, a little pale from 
the turmoils of the night, but with a smile of happiest 
content upon her pretty face. Mr. Chiverley laid 
down the paper on which he had been making a 
sketch from the window, and came forward in gayest 
mood. 

“What on earth did yon do with yourself last 
night? ” he cried. “We were beginning to think that 
you would have to be hunted up.” 

The doctor did not answer, but turned to Roger. 
“Was it you, then,” he asked, “who returned with 
Miss Ardis in a wagon ? ” 

“Yes,” said Roger. “Did you see us? ” 

“No,” said the doctor, his words coming from him 
in a low tone and slowly, “but I was told of it.” 

“It was too bad, doctor,” exclaimed Mrs. Chiverley, 
“that you were not here when they came back ! I 
declare to you that this dreary -looking country seemed 
like heaven when I saw those two sitting together in 
the wagon ! If you had been here, doctor, the situa- 
tion would have been perfect.” 

The doctor hesitated a moment, and then he said : 
“I wish I had been here.” 

339 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Ardis now rose from her seat and approached him. 
“Dr. Lester / 7 said she, “have you had any breakfast ? 77 

The doctor looked up at her and shook his head. 
Then, without another word, she went out of the room. 

“No breakfast ! 77 cried Mrs. Chiverley. “You must 
be hungry ! We breakfasted an hour ago, and we 
were only waiting for your return to start back to 
Atlanta . 77 

“And in twenty minutes by the clock , 77 said Roger, 
“if you had not appeared by that time, I should have 
been off in search of you . 77 

Shortly afterward, as Dr. Lester was eating a hastily 
prepared breakfast at a corner of the dining-room 
table, Ardis came in and sat down by him. “Doctor , 77 
she said, “where did you stay last night ? 77 

“At a house by the roadside , 77 he promptly replied. 

“How far was it from here ? 77 

“I really do not know , 77 said the doctor. 

“And did you walk all the way there and back ? 77 
she asked. 

“Of course , 77 he said. “You know our good horse 
was taken . 77 He spoke now with more strength and 
animation. The sense of thankfulness and peace was 
called forth as much by hot coffee as by the knowledge 
that all was well. 

Ardis sat and looked at him for a few moments as 
he ate. She was about to ask another question, when 
she heard the footsteps of some one approaching. “I 
want to tell you, doctor , 77 she said quickly, “that all 
is right between Roger and me . 77 

“I knew that , 77 he said, “as soon as I came in . 77 

An hour afterward our party set out for Atlanta. 
It was unfortunate to be obliged to leave without the 
340 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


horse which had been stolen from them, but his re- 
covery was so exceedingly doubtful that they preferred 
to go without him, and to pay his value to the man 
from whom he had been hired, rather than to submit 
to delay on his account. The disabled horse seemed 
now somewhat freshened up, and Biscay was attached 
to one of the buggies. But as there were now five 
persons in the party, and places for only four, it was 
decided that the gentlemen should take turns in walk- 
ing. It would be necessary to go slowly, if they ex- 
pected to keep their poorer horse in condition to 
finish the trip. But during that day Dr. Lester did 
not walk a step. Ardis would not permit it. When 
his turn came, she took his place, and as Roger walked 
with her, the horses were a good deal relieved. 

On the way, the doctor was told everything that had 
happened, and the more he heard, the more firmly he 
determined not to mention what he had seen in the 
woods. In turning the matter over and over in his 
mind, he came to believe that the great oak-tree in the 
forest would not have borne the weight which now 
slightly bent its outstretched limb had not Ardis recog- 
nized Roger’s horse and ridden him away. In their 
mad pursuit after this valuable animal, they had reck- 
lessly gone back in the direction from which they had 
come, and, with utterly worn-out horses, had easily 
fallen into the hands of the men who, with determined 
and vengeful purpose, were following them in the dark 
hours of the night. That one of them escaped was 
doubtless due to the fact that Ardis had taken the 
horse he had ridden, and that the hired animal he had 
abstracted from the tavern stable was not able to keep 
up with the blooded steeds of his companions. Almost 
341 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


certain it was that, but for Ardis’s interest in horses, 
her power of quick recognition, and her habit of 
equally quick action, the weights which bent the long- 
oak limb would now be riding on their way in stalwart 
health and cheery mood. All this was so clear to the 
doctor that he knew it would be equally clear to 
Ardis, and, therefore, she must never know it. And 
that it might not, by any chance word, come to her 
knowledge, he would speak of it to no one. 


342 


CHAPTER XXXII 

On the afternoon of the day on which Ardis and her 
party reached the little tavern in Georgia, the philos- 
ophizer Bonetti was walking on the road between his 
house and Bolton, when he met Mr. Tom Prouter. The 
latter was in his dog-cart, and was coming rapidly from 
the direction of Bald Hill. 

“How d’ye do, Bonnet?” he cried, pulling up his 
horse with a jerk. “Do you know anything about Mr. 
Dun worth ? Or where a man could find him, or write 
to him? I have been to see Dr. Lester, but he has 
gone away, nobody knows where, and I stopped at the 
Dunworth place, but Parchester and the others haven’t 
a notion in their heads about him. And Major Claver- 
den, where I stopped and took dinner, cannot tell me 
anything. Even Miss Claverden is away.” 

“You don’t suppose she could tell you anything, do 
you ? ” asked Bonetti. 

“I don’t suppose she could,” said Prouter, “but I 
should like to have the chance of asking her that, or 
anything else. I tell you, Bonnet, this country is get- 
ting to be a regular desert.” 

“It does look a little that way,” said Bonetti. “But 
what started you up to be so sharp after Mr. Dun- 
worth ? ” 


343 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“I want to sell him my milk route,” said Prouter. 
“The confounded thing has got to be sold, or I shall 
be ruined, body, pocket, and mind. And I have got 
down to the belief now that he is the only man in this 
part of the world who is likely to buy it.” 

“Because he is the only one you haven’t asked?” 
said Bonetti. 

“That may be part of it,” said Prouter, “but the 
more I think of it, the more I believe that he is the 
man. He has plenty of grazing-land, and he might as 
well take the cows as not. I’ll sell them to him as 
cheap as dirt, and throw in all the milk-pans, churns, 
and every other confounded thing that belongs to the 
business. If I once see him, I can put the matter be- 
fore him so that he cannot help jumping at the bargain. 
By George, Bonnet, I’d give ten dollars if I knew this 
minute where Dunworth is ! ” 

Bonetti did not immediately answer. He looked 
down at the road, and then at the young man in the 
dog-cart. “Ten dollars?” said he. 

Prouter glared at him. “Bonnet,” he cried, “do 
you know where Dunworth is ? Out with it, man, and 
ten dollars is yours.” And thrusting his hand into his 
pocket, he pulled out a wallet. 

Bonetti folded his arms and cast his eyes again upon 
the ground. Why should he not help Prouter to find 
Dunworth ? The one would be relieved of an onerous 
burden, and the other would be able to make a most 
advantageous bargain. He had Dr. Lester’s Atlanta 
address, and there was no doubt in his mind that it 
was also Dunworth’s. He had promised not to say 
anything about the expedition of Miss Ardis and her 
friends, but he had never said that he would not give 
344 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Dun worth’s address, if he should happen to have it. 
Dr. Lester had asked him to communicate with him, if 
it should be necessary, and it seemed very necessary 
indeed that Mr. Dunworth should be communicated 
with. This young Englishman was ready to sell this 
valuable property for a trifle, and it would be a posi- 
tive wrong to Dunworth not to let him know of the 
chance. 

“Come, come, Bonnet ! ” cried Prouter, “what are 
you thinking of, man? Do you know, or don’t you 
know ¥ ” 

“Yes,” said Bonetti, slowly, “I do know. Just about 
this time he ought to be at Didman’s Hotel, Atlanta, 
Georgia.” 

“By George ! ” cried Prouter, “you are the very 
man I should have come to first ! ” And he pulled 
a ten-dollar note from his wallet and handed it to 
Bonetti. 

The latter took it, rolled it up carelessly, and stuffed 
it into his waistcoat pocket. When money was thus 
lavishly being thrown about the county, he deemed it 
his duty to his family to intercept some of it for useful 
purposes. 

“Atlanta, Georgia ! ” ejaculated Prouter. “How do 
you get there ¥ ” 

“You go to Bolton and take the train,” answered 
Bonetti. “There’s a train south in the middle of the 
night, and one at half-past five o’clock in the after- 
noon.” 

Prouter jerked out his watch. “Five minutes to 
four!” he said. “That gives twenty-five minutes to 
get to the Quantrills’, fifteen minutes to change my 
clothes and pack a bag, twenty minutes to Bolton, ten 
345 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


to speak to the milk people, and a good quarter-hour 
to spare. By George ! Bonnet, Fm off this afternoon ! 
Didman’s Hotel, you said ? 77 

Bonetti nodded, and in a moment the young English- 
man was bowling away as fast as his horse could shake 
himself over the road. 

Bonetti walked slowly homeward, his brow a little 
clouded. “I should not have done that, 77 he said to 
himself. “It was a stupid mistake, and I ought to 
have known better. If I had said to Prouter, ‘If you 
want to find Mr. Dunworth, I 7 11 take you to him, 7 he 7 d 
have agreed as quick as lightnin 7 to pay my passage to 
Atlanta $ and if we hadn’t found him at that hotel, 
we 7 d have hunted him up, and I 7 d have had nothing 
to do with the expenses. It would have done me 
good to get away from here for a while, and I could 
have split up a lot of wood for the women, and gone 
with him just as well as not. Confound it ! It was 
the stupidest kind of a mistake ! 77 

Some hours later, the train on which Tom Prouter 
had taken passage stopped at a junction of several 
railroads. The stop was long— ridiculously long, Mr. 
Prouter thought, and he laid down the novel which he 
was reading and went out to see what was the matter. 
He found that a certain train with which they were 
to make connection had not arrived, and that they 
were waiting for it. Further inquiries elicited the 
information that they might have to wait half an hour 
longer. 

“Confound it! 77 said he. “If things go on in this 
way, Dunworth will have left Atlanta before I get 
there. 77 

As he strode impatiently up and down the broad 
346 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


platform of the station, some one suddenly stepped in 
front of him and said, “Hello ! ” 

Pronter stopped, looked up, and recognized Mr. 
Surrey. 

“Oh ! ” said he. 

“Are you going North ?” asked Surrey. 

“No,” said Prouter. 

“Southward hound, then?” 

“Yes,” said Prouter. 

“I am on my way up from Charleston,” said Jack 
Surrey, paying no attention to the fact that Prouter 
showed very plainly that he took no interest in his 
communications. “It is a poor time to go North, but 
I got tired of it down there. And what is the news 
from Bolton ? Is Miss Claverden there ? ” 

“No,” said Prouter. 

“And our good Dr. Lester? He is on hand, I sup- 
pose ? ” 

“No, he is not,” said Prouter j “he has gone away.” 

“Ah ! ” said Mr. Surrey. “And you are leaving, too ! 
The neighborhood must be quite deserted. Going to 
Florida ? ” 

“No,” answered Prouter, in a tone intended to cut off 
all further questioning. “I am going to Atlanta ! ” 
And he moved away. 

Being thus abruptly left by the young Englishman, 
Jack Surrey walked slowly away in the opposite direc- 
tion, and resumed the smoking of a cigar which he had 
held in his hand during his brief conversation with 
Prouter. He was in no hurry, for he knew that even 
after he heard the coming of the train for which two 
others were waiting, some time would be required 
for the transfer of the baggage and mails. So he 
347 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

leisurely walked up and down, and considered the 
situation. 

He had gone South when he left Bolton, and had 
wandered about a good deal, but perpetual bloom in 
semi-tropical air could not make him forget that he 
had not been able to have a satisfactory interview with 
Ardis Claverden, in which he could set himself right 
before her, and know for a certainty if he had any 
chance of winning her. He gave no weight to her 
anger at his untimely proposal, nor to her subsequent 
avoidance of him. Nothing but a plain, straightfor- 
ward decision would satisfy him, and he had not lost 
faith in his own ability to influence that decision. 
He had heard from a friend in New York that Miss 
Claverden was staying there with the Chiverleys, and 
had afterwards heard that she had gone South with 
them. Thinking that most probably this meant that 
she had returned to Bald Hill and had taken her friends 
with her, Surrey determined that he also would repair 
to that hospitable mansion and endeavor to come to an 
understanding with Ardis. He believed that her father 
was his friend, and that, in Jack Surrey’s opinion, was 
not a bad element on his side. 

But when he heard from Prouter that Ardis was 
not at Bald Hill his plans were upset, and he now set 
himself at work to endeavor to reshape them. As 
going South, in her case, did not mean a return to her 
home, what did it mean? He was almost certain that 
she and the Chiverleys were not in Florida, for Jack 
Surrey, when travelling, was a man who kept himself 
posted in regard to arrivals. Atlanta was suggested 
by the fact that Prouter was going there. That region 
would be attractive to artists, even in winter-time, and 
348 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


perhaps they were on their way to New Orleans. 
Prouter’s going to Atlanta was a fairly good clew, for 
he knew that the young Englishman had strong incli- 
nations in the direction of Ardis, and he thought it 
probable that nothing would be more likely to take 
him to Atlanta than the fact that that young lady was 
there. 

When Surrey had fully considered the subject, it 
seemed plain to him that not only would it be folly to 
go on to Bald Hill, but that, if he desired to travel 
Ardis-ward, he might as well go to Atlanta as any- 
where else. For a moment he thought of asking 
Prouter plainly where she was, but this would unveil 
his intentions, and he believed the young man capable 
of sending him on a wrong track. 

Having arrived at the end of his considerations, 
Mr. Surrey stepped to the ticket office, made some 
arrangements there, and a few minutes afterwards, Tom 
Prouter, who was again in his seat and engaged with 
his novel, saw him enter the car, preceded by a col- 
ored porter carrying a bag. The man came directly up 
to Prouter, and turning to Mr. Surrey, said : 

“You can have the upper berth of this section, sir, 
and that’s the only one left. I’ll make up the beds 
whenever you are ready, gentlemen.” 

Prouter laid down his book and gazed with indigna- 
tion at Surrey. “ What’s the matter ? ” he said. “This 
train doesn’t go North.” 

“I know that,” said Surrey, preparing to occupy 
the seat opposite Prouter, “but I am going South. 
In this country people are allowed to change their 
minds.” 

Prouter sat up very straight, and looked much as if 
349 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


he would like to change his mind and go North. “To 
what place in the South?” he asked abruptly. 

“Atlanta,” said Surrey, as he arranged himself and 
his effects on the seat. 

For some moments Prouter said nothing, but gazed 
fiercely at the other. What, in the name of all that 
was villanous, did this mean ? Why did this man sud- 
denly determine to go to Atlanta? Could he suspect 
that Dun worth was there ? How could he suspect it ? 
The name had not been mentioned — at least, Prouter 
thought not. He racked his brains to try to remem- 
ber if he had said anything about him. And what 
could Surrey want with Dunworth? He had no in- 
terest in milk or cows, and, therefore, could not be 
expected to interfere with him. But he remembered 
that Surrey and Dunworth were rivals, and although 
he considered himself well up in his knowledge of 
America, he did not know what were the customs of 
rivals in this country, but he vowed to himself that if 
there were to be a quarrel, he would see to it that his 
business was settled before Dunworth’s mind was dis- 
turbed by extraneous matters. But, above all, how did 
Mr. Surrey know that Dunworth was in Atlanta ? And 
why did he so suddenly determine to go there ? 

These were questions too hard for Tom Prouter to 
determine, and he betook himself again to his book. 
The train had now started, and presently Surrey re- 
marked : 

“I suppose the porter will soon be coming along to 
arrange these beds. I shall go into the smoking-room. 
Do you smoke ? ” 

“No,” said Prouter, without raising his eyes from 
his book. 


350 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Surrey found the smoking-room unoccupied, and he 
established himself comfortably in a corner. About 
five minutes afterwards Prouter entered, and, seating 
himself as far away from the other as possible, pro- 
ceeded to fill and light a short brown pipe. 

“I thought you said you did not smoke,” remarked 
Surrey. 

“In this country,” retorted Prouter, “people are 
allowed to change their minds.” 

Surrey smiled. “You positively hate me,” he said. 

“Yes, I do,” answered Prouter, shortly. 

“Well,” said Surrey, after a few puffs, “I don’t par- 
ticularly object, on my own account, to your state of 
feeling, but I should think it would be decidedly 
unpleasant for you. We shall have to travel together 
for some little time, and I know I should consider it 
a confounded bore to be obliged to screw my mi nd 
up to the hating-point, and keep it there until we 
reached Atlanta. In order to be consistent, one has to 
make himself so extremely disagreeable.” 

“I don’t mind that,” said Prouter. 

Surrey laughed. “What was the original row ? ” he 
said. “I ask merely from curiosity. I have noticed that 
you have had this animosity on hand for some time.” 

Prouter could not well put into words the reason 
for his dislike of the other. In fact, he hated Surrey 
because that individual had always exhibited a certain 
minor contempt for him, and then, again, he hated 
him because he was a suitor of Miss Claverden, and 
occupied the position, in Prouter’s eyes, of an imperti- 
nent interloper. The latter reason was not difficult 
for Surrey to divine, for Prouter’s manner had fre- 
quently indicated it. 


351 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“Perhaps I can help you out a little,” he said. “Is 
it on account of any attentions I may have paid to 
Miss Claverden?” 

“That is part of it,” said Prouter. 

“Well,” said Surrey, “it is a satisfaction to know 
just how the case stands, and if it is interesting to you 
to keep up your enmity, I am sure I have no objec- 
tions. I will merely say, however, that your atten- 
tions to Miss Claverden do not trouble me at all. You 
see what a charitable mind I have.” 

“Humph ! ” said Prouter. “A charitable mind is 
beastly.” 

The next morning these two uncongenial companions 
took breakfast together at a wayside station, Surrey 
seating himself in the first chair as he entered the 
room, and Prouter taking a place at the other end of 
a long table. 

“How is the enmity this morning ? ” asked Surrey, as 
they came out together. “Hot as ever, I supposed 
I wish I had had a little of it to put into my coffee, 
for the stuff was decidedly cool.” 

“IPs beastly tiresome,” said Prouter, sharply, “that 
you don’t get angry. If you were half a man, you 
would show it.” 

“But I am not half a man,” said Surrey, “as I am 
prepared to show whenever occasion requires.” 

There was not much conversation during the rest of 
the journey, for Prouter invariably went into the 
smoking-room when Surrey was in his seat, and if the 
latter came into the little compartment, the former 
returned to his seat. To sit opposite and close to a 
man to whom he was obliged on principle to exhibit 
ill will would have been a difficult task to the young 
352 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Englishman, whose genial and companionable nature 
was not adapted to that sort of thing. 

Surrey thought it wise not to say anything to the 
other about the object of his journey. Several times 
he had felt inclined to ask some questions, but, on 
second thoughts, decided to keep quiet. He felt quite 
sure, from Prouter’s manner toward him, that Ardis was 
in Atlanta, and that the young man was going to see 
her. If that were the case, he would also see her ; and 
if she were not there, it would be well to make his 
inquiries of some one other than Prouter. 

They reached Atlanta about the middle of the after- 
noon, and Tom Prouter immediately began to lock 
himself up as if he had been an iron safe. It might 
have been supposed that he had been sufficiently shut 
up before, but now one might almost imagine the click 
of the patent locks as he buttoned up his coat, firmly 
closed his lips, and, with bag and umbrella in hand, 
and eyes staring straight in front of him, strode out of 
the station. He paid no attention to the importuni- 
ties of hack-drivers, for Surrey might be near, and 
would hear the address he would have to give the 
man. He had never been in Atlanta, and had no idea 
of the situation of Didman’s Hotel. His only present 
object was to get away from Surrey. When he had 
accomplished this he would inquire about the hotel. 
He walked away rapidly, not caring whether he turned 
to the right or the left, but in less than a minute 
Surrey was walking by his side. 

“ You don’t intend to take a carriage ? ” said the latter. 

“No,” replied Prouter, turning upon him fiercely. 

“If you had done so, I was thinking of joining you,” 
remarked Surrey. “Have you far to walk? ” 

353 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Prouter stopped short and glared at him. “It is 
none of yonr business,” he said, “whether I go far or 
near. You can go your way, and I shall go mine. I 
don’t want you to take a cab with me, or walk with 
me, or have anything to do with me.” 

Surrey smiled. “You keep up the enmity admi- 
rably,” he said. “It is the most interesting case of the 
kind I have ever met with. But you will allow me to say 
that I came to Atlanta because you were on your way 
here. Atlanta is open to the public, and I have a right 
to come to it. If you are now going to any place of 
public entertainment, I have as much right as you 
have to go there, and I shall exercise that right. Of 
course, if you go to a private house, that is another 
matter. But if you do not wish me to walk with you, 
I shall take to the other side of the street. If you 
choose to project your enmity over there through the 
trucks and wagons, I do not .object.” 

Prouter gave vent to an angry ejaculation, and passed 
on with quick, strong strides, turning aside for no one. 
He was furious. How could he rid himself of this 
fellow? He felt inclined to take advantage of the 
loophole of escape which had been offered him by his 
enemy, and actually contemplated going up to the first 
private house he came to and asking permission to re- 
main there for ten minutes. Americans had so many 
unconventional customs that this might not be con- 
sidered an odd request. But he was in a business street 
and passed no private houses. As he became warm 
by exercise he walked more and more rapidly, thus 
hoping to distance his persistent follower, and by 
turning some corner to elude him. 

But Surrey, who was unencumbered with anything 
354 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


save a light bag which hung by a strap from his 
shoulder, easily kept up with him. Prouter, looking 
neither to the right nor to the left, strode past a large 
building without regarding it ; but Surrey, his gaze 
constantly thrown across the street, in order that he 
might not lose sight of the other, saw standing upon 
the portico of this building a man whom he recognized. 
He immediately ran across the street, caught up to 
Prouter, slapped him on the shoulder, and exclaimed : 
“Hold up ! Didn’t you see Dr. Lester as you passed 
that hotel ? ” 

Prouter stopped. “Dr. Lester ! ” he exclaimed. 

“Yes,” said Surrey. “If you don’t want to see him 
you can go on. I shall go back to him.” 

Prouter did not hesitate. “Dr. Lester!” he ex- 
claimed again. 1 1 What is the meaning of that f ’ ’ And 
he immediately walked back with Surrey to the hotel. 

When Dr. Lester, standing near the door of Did- 
man’s Hotel, saw these two men coming up the steps 
toward him, his heart sank. He was not in a very 
happy mood any way, although he had been assuring 
himself over and over that he ought now to be one of 
the most cheerful fellows alive ; and when his eyes 
suddenly fell upon Prouter and Surrey, full of life, 
vigor, and animation, he was almost as much shocked 
as when he came upon the two immovable men hang- 
ing from the limb of the great oak-tree. 

To Prouter by himself he would have had no par- 
ticular objection, but, in the doctor’s eyes, he seemed to 
be bringing with him the most direful of evils. Surrey 
was the cause of the misery that had been just passed 
through. He could reappear only as the cause of 
further misery. What this further misery could be, 
355 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


or how it could be caused, the doctor did not consider. 
Surrey had come— that was enough ! 

Tom Prouter rushed up to Dr. Lester and immedi- 
ately seized him by the hand. “By George, sir, ” he 
exclaimed. “I did not expect to see you here. And 
is Mr. Dunworth with you ? Where is he ? Can I see 
him?” 

The doctor did not immediately answer. He had 
been so reticent in regard to Dunworth that this habit 
of prudence had not* yet left him. But a moment’s 
reflection showed him that there was no reason what- 
ever why all the world should not know that Dunworth 
was here, and he informed Prouter that that gentleman 
was stopping at this hotel, but that at present he was 
not in the house. He believed, however, that he would 
shortly return. 

On receiving this intelligence, Tom Prouter immedi- 
ately left the doctor, and established himself in an 
arm-chair on the piazza, in a position where he could 
see every one who came up the steps, and could also 
have a good view up and down the street. At all 
hazards, his business with Dunworth must be arranged 
before Surrey had had an opportunity to distract his 
mind. 

Surrey’s meeting with the doctor was neither hasty 
nor enthusiastic, but it was marked with easy civility 
on the one side and a severe frigidity on the other. 
Surrey apparently took no , notice of the doctor’s 
forbidding manner, and, after a few casual remarks, 
inquired if Miss Claverden were with the party at the 
hotel. Under other circumstances this question would 
have surprised the doctor, but the moment he saw 
Surrey he was sure he had come after Ardis, and 
356 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


the first shock had been followed by a sickness of heart 
which Surrey’s words had no power to increase. He 
made no conjectures in regard to the manner in which 
this man had discovered that Ardis was in Atlanta. 
She or any one of the party might have written the 
information to friends. But it was a matter of no im- 
portance. Surrey was here— that was the only thing 
to be thought of. 

But while he was thinking, Surrey was waiting for 
an answer. It was contrary to Dr. Lester’s nature to 
tell a lie, and, besides, in this case a lie would be foolish 
and useless. So he answered, “Yes.” 

Surrey asked a few questions about the Chiverleys, 
whom he had heard were Ardis’s travelling companions, 
and whom he had met in Hew York. And when, with 
an apathetic brevity, these had been answered, he went 
into the hotel. He asked nothing about Mr. Dun- 
worth, for he had no reason to suppose he was there, 
Prouter’s questions having been asked in a low tone, 
when he was at the top of the steps and Surrey at the 
bottom. 

Having registered his name, and ordered that his 
heavier baggage be brought from the station, Surrey 
proceeded to the room allotted to him, and put him- 
self into a condition to make an afternoon call upon a 
lady. When this had been accomplished to his satis- 
faction, he went down-stairs, and sent up his card to 
Miss Claverden. In a few minutes the waiter returned 
with the information that the lady would receive him. 

Ardis had been fully prepared for the reception of 
Surrey’s card, for Dr. Lester had lost no time in in- 
forming her of the man’s arrival. She much amazed 
her old friend by exhibiting no displeasure at this in- 
357 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


telligence, and by actually saying that she should be 
glad to see Mr. Surrey. 

“ After all that has happened ! ” exclaimed the 
doctor. 

Ardis smiled. “It is because of what has happened 
that I wish to see Mr. Surrey. It is odd that he should 
be here just at this time, but it happens very well, for 
the sooner I see him the better.” 


358 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


When Ardis entered the parlor where Surrey awaited 
her, there was upon her a radiance of beauty in which 
no man had ever seen her before. It is true that she 
had just parted from Dr. Lester, but he had not seen 
her truly. A cloud had risen before him which dimmed 
all things. 

Xor had Roger looked upon her thus. The party 
had reached the hotel that morning, and early in the 
afternoon, when the Chiverleys had departed for the 
suburbs of the city to sketch, and Dunworth was away 
attending to some business, prominent in which was the 
transportation of his horse to Bolton, Ardis had made 
a total change in her outward appearance. Discarding 
the somewhat hoidenish travelling-costume in which 
she had journeyed into the back 'country, she had 
selected from the trunks which had been left at At- 
lanta the clothes in which she thought Roger would 
like her best. Every fold of her light dress, every 
piece of falling lace, every curl and wave of her dark 
hair, had been arranged to please Roger. She not 
only knew his tastes, but she knew how to gratify 
them, and the joy it gave her to gratify them bestowed 
an added deftness upon her fingers and an added acute- 
ness to her perceptions of the charms of a toilet. 

359 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


And she was also charming because she knew that 
Roger would think her charming, and the light which 
this knowledge had thrown into her dark eyes was 
still there. 

The effect upon Surrey when Ardis entered the room 
was rather an odd one. The moment his eyes fell upon 
her, the thought flashed into his mind that there had 
been a mistake— that it was some one else, and not 
himself, whom she had expected to see. Ardis Claver- 
den had never come like this to welcome him. 

But when, with smiling eyes and lips, she stepped 
quickly toward him, he saw that there was no mistake. 

“I am very glad to see you, Mr. Surrey,” she said. 
And the two seated themselves near a window of the 
vacant parlor. 

Surrey’s words of greeting were few and common- 
place. It was seldom that he felt himself thrown 
from his balance, but he had that feeling now. It 
did not suit him at all to have Ardis say that she was 
glad to see him. He had not expected it, he was not 
prepared for it, and he did not understand it. Look- 
ing upon the case from his point of view, Ardis ought 
not to be glad to see him, or, if she were, she ought 
not to show it. In their last interview he had offended 
her, and she had been very angry, and, since that, she 
had avoided him in a determined manner. He had 
come prepared to explain, to expostulate, to plead. 
He believed himself capable of making her see him in 
the light in which he wished to be seen, and when 
once recognized in that light, he had strong faith in 
his power of making her feel that he truly loved her. 
When he had made her feel this, Jack Surrey believed 
that there would be no good reasons for despair. 

360 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


But that she should be glad to see him disconcerted 
him. There must have been some radical change in 
the condition of things, and how to adapt himself to 
such a change he could not imagine. Ardis did not 
give him much time for cogitation. 

“I did not expect to meet in Atlanta any one I 
knew,” she said, “but I am pleased that it has hap- 
pened so, for it gives me an opportunity of making a 
beginning in my announcements of my engagement to 
Mr. Roger Dun worth.” 

“Roger Dunworth 1 ?” said Mr. Surrey. 

“Yes,” Ardis answered. 

Jack Surrey was a man who was in the habit of 
making strong fights. He had had no reason to sup- 
pose that Ardis had ever loved him, or that she would 
hold herself from love of another man until he could 
persuade her to love him. Without regard to these 
or any other conditions, he had come to win her, if 
valiant fight could do it. And even now, when he 
heard she had been won by another, he could not 
promptly retire from the field. He was not one who 
could give up the game when checkmate was called. 
He must search carefully to see if, by any possibility, 
he might make another move. It had happened to 
him, in times gone by, that he had made another move 
and had himself called checkmate. 

Not downcast, but with his eyes fixed upon the floor, 
Surrey sat silent a few moments. Ardis, on her part, 
remained silent also, and leaning back in her easy- 
chair, she looked at him. This man had been the cause 
to Roger and her of so much misery, and to some of 
her friends of so much trouble and anxiety, that she 
might have been excused had she looked with satis- 
361 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


faction, and perhaps with something of triumph, upon 
his present discomfiture. But she was too happy now 
to think of what had passed. ~No thoughts of doubts, 
of fears, of hardships and dangers, came to her now. 
They were dimmed and lost in the brilliancy of the 
great joy of knowing that Roger belonged to her, and 
she to Roger. 

But although she bore no resentment toward this 
man, who had given her all the real sorrow she had 
ever known, she did not pity him. In fact, the only 
feelings she had in his direction were those of gratifi- 
cation that his most unfortunate and unhappy influ- 
ence upon her life was at an end, and that, so soon, an 
opportunity had come to her to show to him, promptly 
and clearly, the position which, hereafter, he must 
occupy toward her. 

All this was very pleasant to Ardis. It was as if 
some good angel had sent Surrey here, in order that 
the stamp and seal might be put upon the grand trans- 
action of her life. 

Suddenly Surrey looked up. “ It is fixed and settled, 
then,” he said, “that you are to marry Mr. Dunworth ? ” 

“ Fixed and settled,” replied Ardis. And, as she 
spoke, there now first came to her a feeling of trium- 
phant pleasure in the utter defeat of this reckless and 
obstinate pursuer. This feeling was not a very strong 
one, nor did it take entire possession of her. But it 
may have shown itself in the quick, bright flush upon 
her face, for, as Surrey looked at her, a shadow seemed 
to come upon him, and he fixed his eyes upon the 
floor. 

Presently he looked at her again and said : “You 
may think I am slow in offering my congratulations.” 

362 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Ardis smiled. “I had not thought of it,” she said, 
“but you do seem a little tardy about it.” 

“Miss Claverden,” said Surrey, “I never spoke a 
word to you that did not come in all truth and hon- 
esty from my heart, and I shall not now begin to speak 
in a different way. I offer you no congratulations 
because I have none to offer. This may be blunt, but 
it is honest.” 

“It is blunt,” said Ardis, “uncommonly so. And do 
you not wish me happiness f ” 

“I wish you every happiness that humanity is ca- 
pable of,” said Surrey, “but that is not congratulating 
you.” 

“Perhaps you think,” said Ardis, “that if I had 
made a different choice I might have been a better 
subject for congratulation.” 

“Since you ask me,” said Surrey, “I will answer that 
I do think so, most decidedly.” 

This remark, given in a tone which plainly indicated 
that he would have been willing, had he been allowed, 
to point out the better choice, produced such an effect 
upon the lively spirits of Ardis that she could not 
forbear a little laugh. “You are charmingly frank,” 
she said. 

“Miss Claverden,” said Surrey, turning quickly 
toward her, “will you tell me one thing? Do I owe 
to any rash and blundering act of my own the bad 
fortune which has fallen upon me ? ” 

“I will speak as plainly as you do,” said Ardis, “and 
will say that the matter was decided independently of 
anything you could possibly say or do.” 

“That may seem crushing,” said Surrey, “but in 
fact it gives me a certain satisfaction. I am glad 
363 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

to know that I do not owe my misfortune to my own 
folly.” 

Ardis laughed again. “Are you as easily satisfied 
as that?” she said. 

As she spoke, her enjoyment of the ludicrous element 
of the scene lighting up her face, she turned her eyes 
and saw Roger Dunworth standing in the middle of 
the room. 

When Ardis looked upon her lover, although he 
stood but for a moment and said not a word, a hor- 
rible, sickening chill ran through her, and she rose to 
her feet. Her face turned pale, and she opened her 
mouth to speak. But before she could utter a word, 
Dunworth was gone. 

Surrey rose also. To a degree, he comprehended the 
situation, although he saw no reason for such a strong 
exhibition of emotion. But he knew his part was 
played and his exit was in order. 

“I will take leave of you, Miss Claverden,” he said, 
extending his hand. He was about to add some fur- 
ther words, but Ardis simply looked at him , without 
touching the hand he offered. She could not believe 
that this man had again come between her and Roger. 
She could not believe that Roger could be so hot-headed 
and unreasoning. But all her old aversion to Surrey 
suddenly arose in redoubled force, and she shrank 
from him. She would as soon have touched the paw 
of a hyena. Surrey bowed, without a word, and left 
the room. 

When Roger Dunworth returned from his business 
in the city— business very much hastened by his desire 
to get back to the hotel which held Ardis— he was 
stopped at the front door by the beaming Tom Prouter. 

364 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Roger was, of course, greatly amazed to see the young 
man, but was also very much pleased. In his present 
frame of mind, it delighted him to meet a friend and 
neighbor, and in a moment he was plunged into a 
conversation about cows, milk -pans, and wagons. 

The young Englishman gave his mind solely to the 
business on hand. He made no allusion to the fact 
that Surrey had come with him, for he felt sure that 
this information would distract Dunworth’s attention, 
and, once distracted, he might not be able to get hold 
of it again. Dunworth did not want a milk route, but 
he was in such a pleasant and accommodating mood 
that he allowed himself to be impressed by Prouter’s 
arguments, and when he arose he promised Prouter 
that as soon as possible after he reached home he would 
go and look at his stock, and would then come to a 
final decision in the matter. Prouter was so well satis- 
fied with this result that he considered he had made a 
virtual sale of the greater part, at least, of his fortune- 
sapping property, and he went to the office to engage 
a room for the night. 

Dunworth hurried up to the parlor where he hoped 
to find Ardis. He had advanced well into the room, 
when his progress was suddenly stopped by the sight 
of the lady for whom he was looking seated near 
Surrey by one of the windows. The unexpected sight 
of Surrey was enough to astonish Dunworth, but to 
see Ardis seated by him, engaged in what appeared 
to be a very intimate and interesting conversation, as- 
tounded and shocked him. But that which affected him 
more than anything else was the appearance of Ardis. 
He had left her a girlish figure in a short, blue suit 
very much the worse for wear, and with her charming 
365 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


face shaded by a soft felt hat. He now saw her, beau- 
tiful, in his eyes, beyond all expression. He saw her 
arrayed in flowing folds of soft white cashmere, lace, 
and silk, a narrow velvet ribbon round her neck from 
which hung a sparkling jewel, bands of gold about her 
round white wrists, and the beauty of every feature 
intensified by the light that came from her happy 
heart. 

And all this for Surrey ! 

Dunworth was not a man who could readily express 
his emotions in words. In fact, deep emotion for the 
moment silenced him. What he had seen had been 
seen at a glance. The effect was equally instan- 
taneous. Everything had suddenly and absolutely 
changed. He ought not to be here. As quickly as 
he had entered, he turned and went out. 

The instant that Ardis was left alone, she rose and 
rang the bell. When a waiter appeared, she sent him 
to find Mr. Dunworth and to ask him to come to her. 
Then she sat down to wait, and very shortly it came 
upon her that she had done a foolish thing. Why 
should she so discompose herself? Why should she 
send for Roger? He had come in, he had gone out, 
and he would come back when he was ready to do so. 
Perhaps he did not wish to speak to Mr. Surrey. That 
would be natural enough. But all her reasoning could 
not take the chill from her heart. It grew colder and 
colder. 

The man returned and reported that Mr. Dunworth 
had gone out. Then Ardis sent for Dr. Lester, and 
when he came, she told him, briefly but clearly, what 
had happened. 

But the doctor was not in a condition to give her 
366 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


comfort. The heart-chill had come upon him an hour 
or more before it had struck her. His quick sensi- 
bilities had told him that a blight was about to fall 
upon the woman he loved, and now that it had fallen, 
the manner of its fall was of little import. But if he 
allowed this almost superstitious despair to take hold 
of him, he would not show it to Ardis. 

“I will go and find Roger,” he said. “I will explain 
everything to him, and will bring him to you.” 

“ There is rothing to explain,” said Ardis, with a 
little flush. 

“Of course not,” said the doctor. “But you want to 
see him — that is enough. I will go and tell him so.” 




367 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


Roger Dunworth: was not naturally a jealous man, 
nor was he one who often allowed his anger to get the 
better of him ; but, of all men he had ever met with, 
Surrey possessed the greatest power of exciting in him 
jealousy or anger. The cool assumption of the elder 
man could not fail to arouse the hot resentment of the 
other. 

But as Dunworth walked quickly out of the parlor 
and down the stairs, and through the wide public hall 
into the street, he was neither jealous nor angry. His 
emotions had not crystallized themselves into any 
definite form. As has been said before, he had re- 
ceived a shock, and, in a manner, he had been stunned. 

There was nothing in the world, at this time, of any 
importance to Roger Dunworth, compared to the facts 
that he and Ardis loved each other, and that they were 
to marry and live together all their lives. All that he 
intended to do, and all that he hoped to accomplish, 
was to be done for her and to be done with her. He 
had never loved any one but Ardis, and it seemed to 
him that he had loved her all his life. Xow she be- 
longed to him, and he to her, and this was the great 
truth of his existence. 

Upon a mind in this sensitive and exalted state, the 
368 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


vision of his betrothed, more beautiful than she had 
ever appeared before him, closeted, as it were, with an 
abhorred rival, struck upon him with a powerful and 
peculiar force. 

As he walked rapidly up the street his chief 
motive was to get away from Surrey. This was the 
first thing to do. Then all manner of conjectures 
rushed wildly upon him. Why did the man come 
here ? How did he know Ardis was here ? Had she 
expected him? If so, why had she not spoken of it? 
And what did she mean by asking Surrey if he could 
be satisfied with so little?— the only words Roger Dun- 
worth had heard. 

As he walked and thought, and his mind became 
somewhat clearer, he firmly determined he would do 
one thing : Ho matter how this meeting and conver- 
sation had come about, he would not be jealous of 
Ardis, he would not doubt her. He was sure she 
would tell him everything. Having told him she 
loved him, he did not in the least expect that she 
would now tell him she loved another. Whatever ex- 
planation she might give him, he would dispassionately 
hear, and although he might not like what he heard, 
he knew that Ardis was reasonable as well as true, and 
he did not doubt she would give him a fair hearing, 
and act justly. Above all things, he would not doubt 
her. 

But he could not talk to her, nor hear her talk, while 
Surrey was there. He must give that man time to 
get away. And so he walked and walked, and tried 
to think over the whole matter. And the worst thing 
a man like Roger Dun worth could do was to walk and 
walk, and try to think over the whole matter. He 
369 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


thought so much, and walked so long, that at last he 
was surprised to find that it was growing dark. 

As he retraced his steps toward the hotel, he began 
to feel uneasy in regard to his own conduct. Surrey 
must have left Ardis a long time before, and although 
she might excuse Roger’s abrupt withdrawal from the 
room, she must wonder at his protracted absence. He 
did not wish her to imagine for an instant that he 
believed her to be less loyal than himself, and his heart 
smote him as he thought that he had given her reason 
for such supposition. 

Dr. Lester had gone out in search of Roger, but the 
young man had turned up a by-street which led into 
the country, and the doctor could not go into all the 
by-streets which led into the country. The Chiverleys 
had returned from their sketching expedition, and 
wondered why Roger was not there, and why Ardis 
was not ready for her dinner. 

Ardis had waited in the parlor for a long time, but 
neither Roger nor the doctor returned, and at last she 
began to feel that she had not only been chilled, but 
that she had been wounded. Was Roger a man who 
always took offence and showed resentment, without 
giving the slightest opportunity for explanation ? His 
action plainly showed that he considered there was 
cause for disapproval of her, and even if she could 
admit that she had given him apparent reason for such 
supposition, he had no right to act upon it alone. 
After all that had happened, he should have been the 
last man to make up his mind, in a case like this, with- 
out hearing what she had to say about it. 

After thinking a long, long time, she went up into 
her room. She did not wish to see any one until she 
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had seen Roger. Of course her friends could easily ima- 
gine the nature of what had occurred, especially as a 
similar thing had occurred before. Surrey had come 
there— Roger had gone away. It was plain enough 
what they would think. She was ashamed, and grow- 
ing angry. No matter what had happened, Roger 
should not have treated her thus. 

On his way back, Roger became more and more con- 
vinced that he had made a grave mistake by precipi- 
tately leaving the hotel and staying away so long, and 
yet, he could not compose his mind into the proper 
condition to speak to Ardis as he wished to speak to 
her. Visions of Surrey continually arose before him, 
and dispelled the earnest gentleness with which he 
intended to clothe his thoughts. The evening was 
well advanced when he went into a restaurant and 
ordered a meal. He believed, that, rested and re- 
freshed, he would be better able to do what was before 
him. 

When at last he reached the hotel, he had decided 
to go immediately to the parlor, and, if Ardis were not 
there, to send for her and request an interview. As 
he passed through the lower hall he saw no one he 
knew, except Prouter, in an adjoining room, with his 
back toward him, sitting at a table against the wall, 
busily writing. It now struck Roger that he would 
like to see Dr. Lester. It might be well to have a 
word with this good friend before proceeding further. 

He turned aside and went into the reading-room. 
There was only one man there, and that man was Mr. 
Surrey. As Roger entered, the other looked up from 
his paper. 

These two men had frequently met, but had had very 
371 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


little to say to each other. Apart from the fact that 
he was bound, upon general principles, to object to the 
existence of a man who was his rival, Surrey had not 
cared about Dunworth to an extent sufficient to make 
him dislike him. 

This evening the mind of Mr. Surrey was in as 
gloomy and melancholy a condition as its owner had 
ever permitted it to enter. His love for Ardis had 
truly been the most ardent and earnest of his life, and 
his reliance upon himself had been so great that his 
belief in his ultimate success had never wavered. But 
now he knew for a certainty that Ardis belonged to 
another, and that he must, with the best grace possible, 
admit his absolute and definite defeat. This was a 
duty which, hitherto, he had so seldom been called 
upon to perform that he found he was rather rusty at 
it. He would allow himself, however, no trifling with 
himself. The affair was settled, and there was nothing 
left for him to do but to settle himself as well and as 
soon as he might. In pursuance of this resolution, he 
had determined to let every one see that he had ac- 
cepted the fortunes of war. He would show no ill will 
toward any one concerned in the matter, no bad feeling 
whatever, and if, by frank exhibition of a generous 
nature, he should provoke the slightest feeling of re- 
gretfulness in the mind of Miss Claverden, he would 
accept the evidence of such feeling as a palliation for 
his misfortune. 

Toward Dunworth he intended to show a marked 
magnanimity. It was not the young countryman’s 
fault if Ardis preferred him to an accomplished man 
of the world who knew what a thoroughbred woman 
needed to make her happy, and his success was no 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


just cause for enmity. In fact, Surrey considered it 
pure nonsense to be angry with any one. He liked to 
be on good terms with people, or on no terms at all. 

These conclusions were logical and sensible, but Mr. 
Surrey had not adopted them without first throwing 
his mind into a very perturbed and unhealthy condi- 
tion. He had called the matter settled, however, and 
had taken up the paper, hoping to divert his mind into 
a more restful condition. But when he looked up and 
perceived Dunworth standing within a few yards of 
him, and saw his face darkened by an uncontrollable 
expression of antipathy, and even abhorrence, suddenly 
called up by this unexpected meeting, all his good 
resolutions vanished, and hot anger came to the front. 

“Stop that ! ” he said fiercely, throwing down the 
paper. “I want you to stop looking at me in that 
way ! Y ou have done it before, and I have had enough 
of it ! ” 

“I shall look as I please,’ 7 said Dunworth, without 
moving. 

“Ho, you shall not ! ” said Surrey, rising to his feet. 
“At least, you shall not look at me as you please ! It 
is my private opinion you are an ass ! You have be- 
haved like a spoiled child, and now that you have got 
what you want, you are not satisfied, and stand up 
there and make faces. How, I wish you to understand 
that, so far as I am concerned, this sort of thing may as 
well come to an end.” 

When Surrey had finished, Eoger, without a word, 
made two quick strides toward him, but before he 
reached him, a man slipped quickly in between the 
two. It was the clerk of the hotel, who had been 
attracted by Surrey’s loud and angry voice. 

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“Gentlemen/’ he said, “we can have no personal 
altercation in this hotel.” 

Roger was quite able to hurl the interfering clerk 
out of the open door, but this sort of thing was wholly 
foreign to his nature and education. Although with- 
out hesitation ready to resent an affront, his inherited 
ideas taught him that a gentleman should not indulge 
in a broil. 

“I shall settle this matter in another way,” he said, 
as he left the room. 

“All right ! ” Surrey shouted after him. “Settle it 
as you please ! I shall be ready for you ! ” 

Dunworth went into the room where Prouter was 
writing, and interrupted his scratching pen. “Prout- 
er,” said he, touching him on the shoulder, “I want 
you to do something for me.” 

“What is it?” exclaimed Prouter, pushing back his 
chair and springing to his feet. “Name your business. 
I am your man ! ” 

“I want you to take a challenge from me to Mr. 
Surrey, who is in this hotel.” 

Prouter whistled. “Ho, ho ! ” he cried. “Here is 
a go ! Do you mean to fight a duel ? ” 

“Exactly that,” said Dunworth. “That man has 
foully insulted me. I presume he is not such a par- 
ticular friend of yours that you will object to be my 
second ? ” 

“Friend!” exclaimed Prouter. “I hate him from 
his hat to his boot-heels. He came down here with 
me, and made me angry enough to break his head with 
a beer-bottle. Oh, this is larks, my boy ! I’ll be your 
second, quick as lightning. Now, what have I got to 
do ? Just let me finish off this letter and post it. It 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


is to my mother in England, telling her I have sold 
the milk route. It will make her happy, and it’s the 
regular thing to send off a letter like this before a 
duel. Now, just let me skip over to the desk and get 
a tuppence-ha’penny stamp, and then I’m ready for 
yon.” 

Dunworth took no notice of the precipitate assump- 
tion that he had actually concluded his bargain with 
Prouter, when he had merely shown a favorable dis- 
position in regard to it. In a moment the young Eng- 
lishman came bounding back to him. 

“Now, what am I to do?” asked Prouter. “All I 
know about duels I got from Charles O’Malley. But 
Charles was a good, touchy fellow, and I don’t doubt 
he knew what he was about. I am ready to go in any 
way you like : Irish fashion with pistols, or sprigs of 
shillalah $ French style, with rapiers ; or American 
style, with lassos, or whatever way you do it over here. 
Name your tipple.” 

“All you have to do,” said Dunworth, “is to go to 
Mr. Surrey and tell him that I insist on satisfaction 
for his insult to me. He can either apologize or meet 
me, whichever suits him better. As to time, place, 
weapons, and all that, you can arrange with his second. 
I think you will find Mr. Surrey in the reading-room.” 

“Good ! ” cried Prouter. “And I’ll plump it on him 
without waiting a minute. By George, this is larks ! 
Lots better than serving milk, I can tell you ! ” 

Prouter now hastened away, and Dunworth walked 
very slowly toward the broad stairs which led up to 
the parlor floor. He was trying to make up his mind 
what he should say to Ardis. Of course he could not 
tell her of the business on which he had sent Prouter. 


375 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


But lie had not yet had time to decide how he should 
explain to her his abrupt departure and his long ab- 
sence from the hotel. As he went up the stairs he 
determined that he would be perfectly frank with her. 
He would tell her how he came suddenly to leave the 
room, why his mind had been so greatly troubled, 
and what he had been thinking and resolving. She 
should know everything except his recent meeting 
with Surrey. Then she should tell him what she had 
to say, and they would talk over the matter earnestly 
and kindly. That was the way in which every ap- 
parent difference between Ardis and himself should 
now be settled. 

But when he reached the parlor he found only Mr. 
and Mrs. Chiverley, who were very anxious about him. 
They were certain something had happened, but did 
not know what it was, for Dr. Lester had again gone 
out to look for Koger, and Ardis had been entirely 
reticent on the subject of her lover’s non-appearance, 
and had early retired to her room. 

Roger eagerly inquired for Ardis. Mrs. Chiverley 
jumped up and said she would go to her room and 
get her to come down. The little lady was delighted 
to fly upon this errand. She had heard of the arrival 
of Surrey, although she had not seen him, and she was 
afraid he had occasioned some new trouble between 
Ardis and Roger, and that the latter had perhaps gone 
away to South America or to Europe. But now she 
was sure that everything must be all right, for here 
was the lover, anxious to see his lady. 

Mrs. Chiverley found her friend preparing to retire. 
It was quite plain that the information that Roger 
was in the parlor, desiring greatly to see her, gave 
376 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Ardis relief and pleasure, but she did not consent to 
go down. To go into the parlor now, to receive ex- 
planations or to give them, would be very formal busi- 
ness. Whatever Koger had to say to her, she had a 
great deal to say to him, and the public parlor at this 
hour was no place for such a conversation. They 
could meet early in the morning, and then, if they 
chose, could take a walk and have their talk. 

“Do you know how late it is?” she said. “It is 
nearly ten o’clock. I shall not go down again to-night. 
I think you must be tired enough to go to bed, my 
dear, but if you intend to return to the parlor, and 
should see Mr. Dunworth, will you tell him that I 
shall be up early, and will see him to-morrow morning 
before breakfast?” And she gave Mrs. Chiverley a 
good-night kiss. 

“Whatever has happened,” thought that lady, as 
she went down-stairs, “and I don’t believe it was any- 
thing of importance, I wish Mr. Dunworth had had that 
kiss.” 

Koger was greatly downcast by the message, and 
sat silently gazing upon the floor. Mr. Chiverley was 
talking to a little girl, belonging to a party at the 
other end of the room, who had found out that he 
was a natural friend of children. But while he talked 
to the child his eyes were anxiously fixed upon Koger. 
A quick thought now flashed into the mind of Mrs. 
Chiverley. Calling the child to her, she took her rosy 
face between her hands and kissed her. 

“Do you see that gentleman over there?” she whis- 
pered. “Go to him and give him that kiss, and tell 
him it is from Miss Ardis.” 

- “Are you Miss Ardis? ” asked the little girl. 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“No,” said Mrs. Chiverley, smiling, “but she gave it 
to me, and I gave it to you, and I want you to give it 
to him.” 

The child laughed. “That is funny ! ” she said. 
“Til go and do it ! ” 

The little girl approached Roger, and in a low voice 
said to him : “Please put down your head, sir. I have 
a kiss that belongs to you.” 

Roger looked at her for a moment as if he were 
trying to fix his thoughts upon her, and then he said : 
“What do you mean, little girl?” 

“It is only a kiss,” she said, “and it comes from Miss 
Ardis. Do you want it? ” 

The sudden joy that flashed into the face of Roger 
startled the child, and she stepped back, but in an in- 
stant she was caught in his strong arms and lifted to 
his face. 

“That is all,” she said, with a little struggle. “Put 
me down.” The moment her feet touched the floor 
she slipped from him, and, with a little laugh over her 
shoulder, ran away. 

“Josie, where have you been?” asked her mother, 
when the child joined the group at the other end of 
the room. 

“I have been carrying kisses,” she said, “just like a 
postman delivers letters, except that I had only one.” 

1 1 What do you mean ? ” exclaimed her mother. ‘ 1 To 
whom did you take a kiss ? ” 

“To a very nice gentleman, mamma, and a lady 
sent it.” 

“Josie, I am perfectly amazed ! ” 

“Mamma,” said the child, standing up very straight 
and flushing a little, “you need not begin to scold me, 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

for I am sure that if you had known how glad he 
would be to get it, you would have been perfectly 
willing to carry it yourself.’ 7 

Mrs. Chiverley had seen how glad he was to get the 
kiss, and the sight sent her to bed happy. “If that is 
the way he feels,” she said to herself, “ there is cer- 
tainly nothing the matter. And even if there has 
been the least little cloud between them, it will blow 
away the minute they come together.” And the little 
deception she had practised did not weigh upon her 
conscience in the least. 


379 


CHAPTER XXXV 


Roger went to Ms room jubilant. If Ardis had sent 
a little girl to give him a kiss, it showed that this was 
still a world of joy, in which she was the noblest, 
loveliest being breathing. There was something so 
charming, so delicate and yet so forcible, in the means 
which she had taken to show him, that although she 
did not come down to him, she did not wish him to 
forget she was his very own, that the enraptured 
lover could scarcely restrain himself from bursting 
into triumphant song. He had not long luxuriated in 
these delightful emotions when Tom Prouter came in. 

“ All settled ! ” exclaimed the young Englishman. 
“ Everything ready and right as a trivet ! By 
George ! I am glad to see you in as high-cockalorum 
a humor as I am ! And I don’t wonder at it. The 
thought of punishing such a downright rascal as that 
Surrey is enough to put anybody in good spirits. Do 
you know what he did when I took him your chal- 
lenge? He accepted it instanter, and then he burst 
out laughing because I brought it. He said my bring- 
ing Mm a challenge fitted in more beautifully than 
anything he had ever seen. It was such an absurdly 
perfect fit that it was positively ludicrous. By George ! 
he made me so angry that I was ready to take a second 
mortgage on him myself ! ” 


380 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“What have you settled upon?” asked Roger. 

“The first thing we did,” said Prouter, “was to get 
him a second. He don’t know anybody here, and 
you told me you didn’t want Dr. Lester or your friends 
to know anything about it. So we got the day clerk 
of the hotel. The night clerk said he would be per- 
fectly willing to oblige us, but he had to be on duty 
until breakfast, and so couldn’t get away at daybreak. 
But the other clerk got up out of his bed and talked 
over the matter with us, and was as obliging as any- 
body could be. In fact, he managed the whole thing. 
He provided the pistols, fixed the time, and said he 
knew of an excellent place, not far from the hotel, 
where we would run no risk of being disturbed at an 
early hour in the morning. How, really, Mr. Dun- 
worth, your hotels are very different from ours. You 
can call for a cocktail, a theatre ticket, or a second in 
a duel. By George, sir ! I believe if you rang your 
bell and ordered an articulated skeleton, the waiter 
would bring it up ! ” 

“It is decided, then,” said Dunworth, “that we are 
to meet early in the morning?” 

“That’s it,” said his lively second, “and you need 
give yourself no further trouble about it. I’ll call you 
when it’s time to get ready to go.” 

Prouter left Roger Dunworth in a very different 
mood from that in which he had found him. When 
he thought of the cold-blooded performance which was 
to take place the next morning, he cursed in his heart 
the man who had brought this thing upon him at this 
time, when life was just opening before him in all its 
true glory and joy. He felt a fierce impatience for the 
hour to come when he might destroy and utterly put 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


out of the way this demon of bad omen, who seemed 
continually to rise between him and happiness. Other- 
wise, at the very marriage-altar he might expect him 
to appear. 

But at this thought the tenor of his feelings changed. 
There might be no marriage-altar ! What a dreadful 
business it was that, at the very opening of his new life, 
he should voluntarily allow this life to depend upon 
the arrangements of a hotel clerk and Prouter, and 
upon the accuracy of Surrey’s aim ! Reason was ready 
to tell him that he had no more right to thus expose 
the life he had given to Ardis Claverden than he had 
recklessly to expose to peril anything else which she 
held dear, and which was her own. But, before his 
inherited ideas of honor, reason was obliged to step 
aside. To be a coward was for him simply impossible, 
and, to his mind, nothing could be more cowardly than 
to shrink from this combat. He could not appear 
before Ardis knowing that he had saved himself for 
her by an act of cowardice. 

Although his feelings of indignation and abhorrence 
toward Surrey did not, in the least, abate, he no longer 
felt that savage desire to annihilate him. If he died 
it should be with clean hands, and if he lived it 
should be with clean hands. His idea of courage was 
to face death, not to inflict it. 

It was a long time before Roger went to sleep. But 
when he dreamed, it was of the kiss that Ardis had 
sent him, and not of the affair of the next morning. 

Ardis slept well, without dreams, and having gone 
to sleep so soon, she awoke very early the next morn- 
ing. It was just beginning to be light, but she could 
see it was going to be a very beautiful day. She had 
382 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


slept with her window- curtains drawn and one of the 
sashes raised. The weather was very mild, even for 
this region, and the air which came through the window 
was balmy and delicious. The days were lengthening, 
and when Ardis pulled her watch from under her 
pillow, she saw that it was even earlier than she sup- 
posed, and so she lay down again and thought. 

Her thoughts were very pleasant ones. Her resent- 
ment toward Roger had entirely died away, and the 
fact that he had wanted to see her proved that he was 
in a satisfactory state of mind. If he had behaved 
foolishly he would get a scolding, and no doubt that 
would do him good. But she would not even assume 
that he had behaved foolishly. She would wait and 
hear what he had to say. That was just and fair. It 
might be that something had occurred which he could 
not mention before Mr. Surrey. This state of the case 
did not appear very probable, but she would wait and 
hear. Whatever Roger told her, she knew, would be 
the absolute truth. 

She now began to calculate how soon she might get 
up. She did not want to be wandering about the 
hotel before other people were out of their beds. 

“At eight o’clock,” she said to herself, “we shall 
breakfast, if we are to leave on the morning train. At 
half-past seven Roger will surely be down-stairs, prob- 
ably waiting in the parlor, and then we can have a 
walk and a talk. I have no doubt he is as wildly 
anxious for a talk as I am. I shall need half an hour 
to dress, so I suppose I ought not to get up before 
seven.” 

The hotel was at some distance from the business 
part of the town, and in its rear were gardens and a 
383 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


grove stretching away into the suburbs. The birds 
were now beginning to sing and chirp, and as Ardis 
lay and listened to them, she envied them. “They can 
get up when they please , 77 she thought, “without wait- 
ing for other people. The most beautiful part of the 
day belongs to them. After a time, when everything 
is fixed and settled, there is going to be a reform in 
regard to these beautiful hours of the early morning— 
at least, in the lives of two people whom I know . 77 

This thought called up others about the lives of two 
people, which were very charming thoughts to think 
as she lay there, idly and happily breathing the morn- 
ing air and looking out on the beautiful morning 
sky. 

Suddenly she heard a shot, quickly followed by an- 
other. At this sound her face flushed and her brows 
slightly knitted. 

“It is a shame , 77 she said to herself, “an outrageous 
shame, for people to shoot the birds as they do. Of 
course it is not necessary to shoot these little creatures, 
and it is sheer wantonness and cruelty, especially at 
this hour, which is the birds 7 own time of day . 77 

And then she began to think what she would say to 
some one on the subject of unnecessary shooting, 
although she did not believe there would be the 
slightest need for counsel of the sort in that quarter. 
And now she forgot her momentary anger, and began 
to watch two white clouds which were floating, one 
after the other, across the sky, and in her playful 
fancy she called one of them Roger and one herself. 
The following cloud appeared to her to move faster 
than the other, and as they passed out of the space of 
sky visible to her, Ardis sat up and leaned forward so 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


she could continue to watch her clouds, and when they 
disappeared they were very near each other. 

“They are sure to touch/’ she said, as she lay back 
on her pillow. “Now, I wonder whether that cloud 
that tried so hard to overtake the other was Roger or 
I. As things have gone recently, it might be supposed 
that I was that cloud. Perhaps it was so, and, if it 
was, it shall be charged to the account of contrary 
breezes. All that we need think of is that at last the 
winds of heaven blew those clouds together, and that 
ought to be enough to make anybody happy.” And 
now she looked at her watch and saw that it was seven 
o’clock. 

Ardis was about half dressed when there came a 
quick treble knock at her door, and in a moment Mrs. 
Ohiverley ran in. She was pale and excited, and there 
were tears in her wide-open eyes. 

“Oh, Ardis dear ! ” she exclaimed. “Don’t be fright- 
ened ! It is all right now, and Mr. Dunworth is per- 
fectly safe ! ” 

Ardis had sprung toward her. “What do you 
mean f ” she cried. 

“Oh, there has been a duel,” said Mrs. Ohiverley, 
“early this morning— just a little while ago. But you 
need not be in the least troubled, for Mr. Dunworth 
was not hit at all, and Mr. Surrey was only pinked. 
That is what Mr. Prouter said, who told us about it, 
and Mr. Ohiverley explained that that meant a very 
slight wound. So there is nothing to grieve about, 
dear Ardis, and we ought to be thankful that it turned 
out as it did.” 

Ardis stood like a statue, her eyes very bright and 
fixed upon her friend. Presently she said : “Do you 
385 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


mean to tell me that Mr. Surrey and Mr. Dunworth 
have fought a duel ? ” 

“Oh, please don’t look at me like that, Ardis ! ” cried 
Mrs. Chiverley. “They did fight a duel, and nobody 
knew anything about it except that young Englishman 
and some one connected with the hotel. Mr. Prouter 
was a second, and he has just told all to Dr. Lester 
and Mr. Chiverley and me. Mr. Dunworth sent Mr. 
Surrey the challenge last night, but they kept it per- 
fectly secret.” 

“Mr. Dunworth sent Mr. Surrey a challenge?” said 
Ardis, speaking the words very slowly, and in a voice 
that did not seem exactly her own. 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Chiverley, the tears now running 
down upon her cheeks, “and we know everything 
about it. I don’t believe you understand, Ardis, that 
Roger Dunworth is perfectly uninjured and Mr. Surrey 
is only slightly touched. So why will you look like 
that?” 

“Where is Mr. Dunworth?” said Ardis. 

“I don’t know,” replied her friend. “I have not 
seen him. But of course you want to see him, and, 
when you do, you will find that what I have told you 
about his not being hurt is perfectly true. Shall I 
send to him and tell him you would like to see him in 
the parlor ? ” 

“Thank you,” said Ardis, “I wish you would. I 
shall be down very soon.” 

As Ardis turned to finish her dressing, Mrs. Chiver- 
ley gazed at her for a moment. It did not surprise her 
that her friend should be deeply affected by the news 
she had brought, for such news about a lover, no matter 
how the affair had ended, was enough to give any 
386 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


woman a shock. But she could not understand why 
Ardis should look more and more unlike herself, even 
after she knew, or ought to know, that nothing serious 
had occurred. But she said no more, and hurried 
away to send the message to Dunworth. 

When Ardis came down-stairs, about ten minutes 
afterwards, she found Dr. Lester alone in the parlor. 
His face had been troubled, but it became much more 
so when his eyes fell upon Ardis. He came forward 
and took her by the hand. 

“My dear Miss Ardis,” he said, “have you been 
made to understand that Roger is wholly unhurt ? ” 

“I know it,” she said. And, as she spoke, the doctor 
felt his heart grow numb within him. His nature was 
very sensitive, and there was something in the tone of 
her voice which appalled him. 

“Doctor,” said she, “is there a room where I can talk 
with him undisturbed ! ” 

The doctor’s eyes brightened as he heard these 
words. “ Certainly,” he said. “There is a little parlor 
opening from this one. Will you step in there f And 
shall I send Roger to you I ” 

“If you please,” said Ardis. 

When Roger opened the door of the little parlor, 
Ardis was standing in the middle of the room. Shut- 
ting the door with a thrust, he made a quick step 
toward her. But she shook her head. 

“I have something to say to you, Roger,” she said, 
“and you will please listen.” 

He, too, when he heard her voice, felt a numbness 
creeping upon him. He stood still and gazed on her. 

“Roger,” said she, “you challenged Mr. Surrey to 
fight a duel about me. I was not told so, but I know 
387 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


it was about me. Unless I was concerned, you and 
Mr. Surrey would have nothing to do with each other. 
Roger, you have been very jealous of Mr. Surrey. Y ou 
have shown that in the strongest possible way. But I 
could easily forgive it when you showed it by going 
away from me, from your home, and from everything, 
because then you did not know that I loved you. 
Whether you had good reason or not, you thought I 
loved some one else, and you had a right to be jealous 
and to be broken-hearted, and to do what you pleased. 
But now, Roger Dunworth, everything is different. I 
have told you that I love you. I grieved that I let 
you go so long without knowing it, and I travelled 
hundreds of miles, and endured hardships and dangers, 
to tell you. And after all I have done to show you 
what I felt, and after all we have said to each other, 
you do not trust me, you do not believe in me.” 

“ Ardis ! ” exclaimed Roger. “How can you—” 

“Let me speak,” interrupted Ardis. “Stay where 
you are. I say, you do not trust me. You find me 
talking with Mr. Surrey. You dash away, and that 
very night you send him a challenge. How, it does 
not matter whether you were jealous or not, that 
showed a shameful want of trust in me. If you are 
jealous at such a time as this, that is enough to prove 
all I have said. But even if there were any other rea- 
son, for you to risk the life which you had just given to 
me, and risk it without one word to me, was the crud- 
est want of faith in me. Do you not suppose that I 
would have supported you in anything that was brave 
and honorable ? I have loved you truly and loyally, 
and, what is more, I love you now. But you have 
shown, as plainly as it could be shown, that you do 
388 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


not trust me, that yon do not believe in my love. 
And I will not marry a man who does not trust me. 
Now you can go your way, and I will go mine.” 

As she spoke the last words she moved quickly 
toward the door. But before she reached it, Roger 
sprang toward her and clasped her in his arms. 

“Ardis,” he cried, “take back those words ! Ardis ! 
My Ardis ! ” 

As he spoke he strained her to his heart. But, with 
a strength which surprised him, she unclasped his arms 
from around her, and darted out of the room. 

At the end of the large parlor she found Dr. Lester 
waiting, anxious and apprehensive. “Doctor,” she 
said, and as she spoke her voice was nearly choked 
with tears, “there is nothing more between Roger and 
me. He does not trust me, and I will not marry a 
man who does not trust me. Now I want to go to 
Bald Hill just as quickly as I can. Will you attend 
to our getting off? ” And she went to her room. 

In little more than an hour after that, Ardis and Dr. 
Lester, with the Chiverleys, were on a northern-bound 
train. The latter two had not intended returning with 
the party, having proposed a short sketching tour in 
the South. But when they heard what had happened, 
there was no further thought of sketching. Mrs. 
Chiverley’s tender heart would have ceased to beat 
before it would have allowed her to leave Ardis until 
she had seen her safe at home and in her father’s arms. 

Roger remained standing where Ardis had left him, 
staring straight at the wall in front of him, seeing 
nothing and hearing nothing but the soul-deadening 
words she had said to him. Every syllable sounded 
in his ears as if it had just been spoken. He stood 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


thus until a servant came and touched him on the 
arm, having previously tried in various ways to attract 
his attention, and told him that she wished to sweep 
the room. 

As Roger could not have known Ardis so long with- 
out loving her, it was also impossible that he should 
love her so long without knowing her well. And he 
knew that the one thing that would make her cast off 
a dog, a friend, or a lover was the belief that that dog, 
friend, or lover did not trust her. And this, with 
reason, she now believed of him. 

If it had been the other way, if she had had cause to 
distrust him, he believed that in time she would have 
forgiven him. But now he could not believe she 
would forgive him. To do what he had done, at the 
time at which he had done it, and without her knowl- 
edge, could not fail to be, in her eyes, an insult as well 
as a crime. 

But Roger did not despair. He must see Dr. Lester. 
Instinctively he turned to this old friend. He knew 
that Ardis would not see him at present, but the doctor 
could see her. He would pour out his heart to the 
doctor and trust in his friendship. 

But Dr. Lester was not in the house, and after mak- 
ing himself certain of this fact, Roger went up to his 
room. When he came down again he was surprised 
to hear that the Chiverleys, Miss Claverden, and Dr. 
Lester had gone to the station to take a through train 
to the North. This news astounded him. It had been 
planned that the party should leave Atlanta about 
noon, and return to Virginia by the way of Savannah 
and Charleston, probably leaving the Chiverleys at the 
latter place. But now they had gone directly home ! 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Dunworth rushed out of the hotel, jumped into a cab, 
and drove rapidly to the station. But he was too late— 
the through train had gone. When he returned to the 
hotel he made no inquiries about Prouter or Surrey. 
He did not know the latter was wounded, and no 
thought of either of them entered his mind. At the 
suggestion of the clerk, he had some breakfast, and 
then, in a state of nervous irresolution, he considered 
the situation. What he wanted to do was to go by 
the next train to Bolton— to Ardis. But what would 
be the good of that? His reason, even his heart, told 
him it would be of no good at all. He did not despair, 
but he knew it would be folly to try to see her now. 

As it would be well for him not to follow Ardis too 
closely, Roger determined, on his own part, to carry 
out the original plan of the party, and to go home by 
the way of Savannah and Charleston. In Atlanta he 
could not stay a moment longer than was absolutely 
necessary. 

The express train by which they had expected to 
leave did not start until noon, but Roger felt he could 
not wait for that. He must leave this hated city at 
the earliest possible moment, and, therefore, had him- 
self and his valise taken to the station in time to catch 
the morning accommodation train for Savannah. This 
travelled slowly, but it left soon. 

In Savannah he wrote a letter to Ardis. Hours of 
continuous thinking had led him to believe that this 
would be the best thing for him to do. He could state 
his position clearly and without interruption, and if, 
in consequence, the slightest chance should be given 
him, he felt himself able to plead his cause in person 
in such a way that Ardis— who loved him, for she had 
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told him so— would take back the words she had 
spoken. The hope grew within him that she would 
give him that chance. She must have been very angry 
when she spoke to him on the morning of the duel, 
and he did not blame her for it. But such anger could 
not last forever. The home influence must count for 
something. Could she be, at Bald Hill, among the 
scenes of their youth, as unrelenting as in a strange 
city f Her father, he believed, would prove his friend 
in this matter. It was not likely that he would be 
so severe a judge as his daughter. The frank -hearted 
major had long since let him know that, if he could 
choose a son-in-law, he would choose him, and on this 
knowledge Boger counted much. 

Roger asked that the answer to his letter should be 
sent to Charleston, and he waited in that city until it 
came. Ardis’s reply was brief. It ran thus : 

‘ ‘ I was angry when I spoke to you, but that makes 
no difference. What I said then is my firm conviction 
now. The man who does not trust in me, or who omits 
all consideration of me when he deliberately risks his 
life, cannot be my husband. No matter whether he has 
done right or wrong, he cannot be my husband. There 
could not be mutual belief between us, and, therefore, 
there could not be happiness. My decision is carefully 
considered, and is final.” 

When Roger read this letter he did not feel that he 
knew Ardis any better than he had known her before. 
He was merely reminded that in writing to her he 
had allowed himself to forget what manner of woman 
she was. 


392 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


Tom Prouter had been up the greater part of the 
night, cleaning and polishing pistols and discussing 
the code of honor with the night clerk. He had 
risen very early in the morning, and when his services 
upon the duelling-ground had been concluded, and he 
had told the story of the affair to the Chiverleys and 
Dr. Lester, he considered that he was entitled to a 
short nap. He slept so soundly, however, that prob- 
ably he would not have wakened until afternoon, had 
not his friend, the night clerk, come up to his room a 
little after ten o’clock. 

“I have come to consult with you,” the clerk said, 
“ about what is to be done with Mr. Surrey. I have 
sent for a doctor, but he has not come yet, and I don’t 
know any other physician that I would care to call 
upon, for in cases like this we have to be very careful. 
And when the doctor comes, somebody ought to be on 
hand to talk to him and explain matters. Billings 
was very willing to act as a second, and I was glad to 
be of what service I could, but it won’t do for either 
of us to be mixed up in the matter. The gentleman 
may not be much hurt, but then, again, he may be 
mortally wounded. I can’t make out how he was hit. 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


It seems to me a queer kind of wound, and I don’t 
understand it.” 

“All right ! All right ! ” cried Prouter, springing 
from the bed and pulling out his watch. “I didn’t 
know it was so late ! I’ll look into that Surrey busi- 
ness,” he continued, as he hurriedly put on his coat, 
“but first I must see Mr. Dunworth and make arrange- 
ments for going North with him.” 

“Mr. Dunworth ! ” said the clerk. “He left for 
Savannah half an hour ago ! The rest of his party had 
already gone North on the Washington express.” 

“The rest of his party ! ” shouted Prouter. “Who 
are they?” 

The clerk looked surprised. “I supposed,” he said? 
“that, knowing Mr. Dunworth, you knew them all. 
There were Mr. and Mrs. Henry Chiverley, Miss Ardis 
Claverden, and Dr. R. C. Lester.” 

Prouter stood petrified. He had made for himself 
a very definite plan of action. He had determined 
to wipe from his soul every taint of milk. He would 
go back to Virginia with Dunworth, and immediately 
settle the transfer of the milk route and its appurte- 
nances. No question of price, or anything else, should 
be allowed to stand in the way. Then, as soon as the 
money for which he had already written to his mother 
should arrive from England, he would add to it what- 
ever he should be able to save from the wreck of his 
latest enterprise, and go into some business suitable for 
a gentleman. It appeared to be necessary for a young 
man to have some business, if he wished to stand well 
in the opinion of people in this part of the world, 
and to stand well in the opinion of some of these people 
was, at present, Mr. Prouter’s hot desire. But this 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


sudden departure of Dunworth in the wrong direction 
was ruin to his plans. That dreadful weight of cows, 
wagons, and milk-pans still hung around his neck. 

He gave vent to a sounding objurgation. “Con- 
found Dun worth ! ” he ejaculated. “Why did he bolt 
off to Savannah without letting me know? I had 
business of far more importance than anything that 
could have taken him there ! I was going back to 
Bolton with him this morning ! 99 

The clerk could give him no information, and 
Prouter continued : “There’s another thing ! I never 
saw such tiresome luck as mine ! I didn’t see Miss 
Claverden at all, and I’d have given a horse to see 
her ! I hadn’t a notion she was here. Confound it ! 
I’d go North this minute— for I don’t suppose it’s any 
use to try to follow up Dunworth— he may be going 
to the West Indies, for all I know. But I can’t do 
either thing. I’m tied up here in the beastliest way.” 

“How is that?” asked the clerk. 

“It’s that vile, beggarly, shabby, contemptible, good- 
for-nothing hound of a Surrey ! You tell me he has 
gone and got himself wounded, and as he doesn’t know 
a soul here to put him into proper hands now, or to 
ship his carcass to his friends in case he pegs out, I 
suppose, as I took part in the affair, I have got to stay 
here.” 

The clerk replied that it would be very well indeed 
if some one who knew the wounded man should stay, 
at least until it should be decided whether or not 
his condition was dangerous. 

“It is the vilest shame ! ” said Prouter. “And all 
for such a worthless dog, who jams himself into every- 
body’s business and spoils everything.” 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Growling that he had lost the chance of even a few 
minutes’ conversation with the most charming woman 
he had ever known, and grumbling because nobody 
had told him that she was there, Prouter went up to 
Mr. Surrey’s room to ascertain the condition into which 
that most inconvenient person had got himself. 

“Here’s a pretty kettle of fish ! ” said he, as he opened 
the room door. 

Surrey was lying on a lounge, partly dressed, and 
with his left shoulder and arm enveloped in a compli- 
cated bandage. 

“I should say so,” said he, turning toward the in- 
comer. “If you intended to come up here at all, why 
didn’t you come before, while the doctor was here, 
and back me up in the story I had to tell him? ” 

“You needn’t suppose I’ll back up your stories,” 
snapped Prouter. 

“I told him the exact facts,” said the other, “but I 
must admit they sounded absurd. His belief was that 
I had been fired at from an upper window or from a 
tree-top, and as I had nobody to support me in my 
statements, I suppose he will continue in that opinion.” 

“He must be an everlasting ass,” said Prouter. 
“Does he suppose anybody would fight a duel with 
one of the principals in the top of a tree?” 

Surrey laughed. “He does not believe it was a 
duel at all,” said he. 

“Let him think what he pleases,” said Prouter. 
“If he hadn’t come while I was in my room talking to 
the clerk, I might have set him straight. How were 
you hit, anyway?” 

“Just on the top of the left shoulder,” said Surrey, 
“and the ball went down in an oblique direction and 
396 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


came out about two inches below. I don’t suppose it 
is a bad wound, but I shall have to keep quiet for a 
while.” 

“By George!” exclaimed Prouter. “Somebody 
must have fired at you from a tree ! It couldn’t have 
been any of Dunworth’s friends, now, could it?” 

“Nonsense ! ” said Surrey. “The thing is easily 
enough explained. Dunworth and I both fired into the 
air, but his aim was too near the perpendicular, and 
the ball, in falling, struck me on the shoulder. Every- 
body knows that a ball falling from a considerable 
height will come down with almost as much force as 
that with which it went up. It was a good line shot 
that he made.” 

“Well, I’ll be hanged,” said Prouter, “if that isn’t 
just like you ! I’ll bet six guineas to sixpence that 
you either made one step backward or a step forward, 
and so got under the ball. And, more than that, I 
never did hear of such a stupid, muddy -headed piece of 
folly as for two men to go out to fight a duel, and then 
both of them to fire into the air ! You might as well 
have each stayed in your own bedrooms and fired your 
blasted pistols into your wash-hand basins.” 

“Better, as far as I am concerned,” said Surrey, “for 
then I should not have been hit.” 

“And a great deal better, as far as I am concerned,” 
said Prouter, “for then I shouldn’t have been tied up 
by the leg to this beastly business, and cut out of a 
chance even to speak to Miss Claverden, and she in 
this very hotel up to half an hour ago ! ” 

“Miss Claverden ! ” said Surrey. “Was that poor 
lady cut off from a chance of speaking to you? In- 
deed, I pity her ! And so she has gone ? ” 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“Yes, and that’s a nice kettle of fish, too,” said 
Prouter, “now that I have thought it over ! Here is 
Miss Claverden gone off to Bald Hill with the doctor 
and those other people, and here is Dunworth pitching 
off to Savannah and nobody knows where else besides. 
There has been a row. That is plain enough. By 
George ! I believe you are a double-barrelled nuisance 1 
On the one hand, you come down here and set people 
by the ears, with your stupid duels, and, at the same 
time, you interfere in my business by driving Dun- 
worth away just as he was about to buy my milk route. 
The thing was as good as settled until this row came 
on. By George ! I wish you had fought a duel with 
some other ass on your way down here, and that he 
had shot you ! ” 

“The other ass didn’t challenge me,” said Surrey, 
“although I noticed that he seemed in a suitable 
humor for such business. But do you mean that there 
has been a misunderstanding between Dunworth and 
Miss Claverden, and that they have gone away in 
opposite directions f ” 

“I said,” replied Prouter, “that they went off at 
different times and in different ways. If that ball 
had gone into your skull instead of your shoulder, it 
would have let in enough light on your brain for you 
to see for yourself that there must have been a row.” 

“I am sorry to hear that,” said Surrey, and for a 
time he was silent. 

“If I had been in Dun worth’s place,” said Prouter, 
“and you had come down here after Miss Claverden, 
—and I dare say that is what you did come for,— I 
would have shot you like a dog.” 

“I have no doubt,” said Surrey, “that, if you had 
done it at all, you would have done it like a dog.” 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“And why, in the name of all that is stupid,” said 
Prouter, “did you fire into the air?” 

“I didn’t want to hurt him,” said Surrey. “I knew 
he was engaged to Miss Claverden, and I fired into 
the air out of regard for her.” 

“And, like as not,” said Prouter, “you hit some 
pious old widow picking up sticks. It would serve 
you right if her body were to be fetched in now.” 

“Not in here, I hope,” said Surrey. “And, do you 
know, I haven’t had any breakfast yet ? Will you ring 
that bell ? And when the man comes, I will tell him 
what I want.” 

Prouter rang the bell, and then he turned and again 
addressed Surrey. “By George!” he said. “You 
have the most beastly, monotonous way of making 
trouble ! First you had that rumpus with that wild 
man of the woods in those underground holes at 
Bidgeby,— which half the people believed was a put-up 
job,— and so got yourself laid up at Bald Hill, where 
you weren’t wanted. And now you’ve gone and acted 
in the same tiresome way, and got yourself hurt again 
and laid up. And this time it is my business that is 
knocked into a cocked hat ! ” 

“Look here,” said Surrey, “what will you take for 
your milk concern ? ” 

“Take ! ” cried Prouter. “You needn’t suppose I’d 
sell it to you ! By George ! if you were to go about 
serving milk in Bolton, you’d make a row in every 
family in the place.” 

Here the conversation was interrupted by the en- 
trance of a waiter. When Surrey had ordered a light 
repast, Prouter remarked : 

“I haven’t had any breakfast, either. I’ve a mind 
to order some brought up at the same time, if it 
399 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


wouldn’t make your temper any worse to see a man 
eat a Christian meal.” 

“My temper can stand it,” said Surrey. And 
Prouter ordered a bountiful breakfast, with beer. 

When the meal had been finished and the things 
taken away, Surrey remarked : “ I don’t suppose it 
will injure my shoulder for me to have a smoke. Will 
you be good enough to hand me that paper of cig- 
arettes from the mantelpiece? And the match-box, 
please ? ” 

Prouter did as he was asked, and Surrey suggested 
that he should help himself to a cigarette. 

“Never smoke ’em,” said Prouter. “I dare say, 
now, the smell of a decent pipe would swell up that 
shoulder of yours.” 

“Not a bit of it,” said Surrey. “Smoke away, if 
you want to.” 

Prouter pulled from his pocket a little brown pipe 
and a bag of tobacco, and sat down by the open win- 
dow, where, for some time, he puffed in silence. “By 
George ! ” he suddenly cried, springing to his feet. 
“What a jolly notion that upshot shooting would be 
for a fellow who wanted to commit suicide, especially 
if he had a fancy for a rifle, as many fellows have. 
He could just hold his gun straight up, perpendicular, 
present arms, then pull the trigger and step forward 
twelve inches, and the ball drops on his head, and, 
most likely, goes through to his boots. That is a 
deucedly good idea. You might put a round bit of 
white paper on top of your head and see if you could 
hit it. It would make the thing interesting.” 

Surrey laughed. “And if you happened to be an 
Englishman,” he said, “you’d make a bet with your- 
400 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

self that you couldn’t hit the paper once out of three 
shots.” 

Prouter gave a grunt. “It’s not a bad notion/’ he 
said, “but I dare say you couldn’t be persuaded to 
try it.” 

“Not at present,” replied Surrey. “You see, my 
left shoulder will be stiff for a while, and I couldn’t 
present arms. By the way, I suppose you will be 
going out for a walk presently ? ” 

“Of course I shall,” said Prouter. “I can’t stay long 
in this cooped-up hole.” 

“Then I shall be obliged to you,” said Surrey, “if 
you will get this prescription made up for me. It is 
some sort of a smear, and does not have to be used 
until afternoon, but I might as well have it on hand.” 

Prouter took the paper, put it in his waistcoat 
pocket, stuffed his two hands in the pockets of his 
travelling-jacket, and marched out of the room. He 
strode along the streets until he came to an apothecary 
shop, and entering, he presented the prescription to a 
clerk. 

“What’s that for?” he said. 

The man looked at it. “It is an ointment,” he re- 
plied, “but, of course, I don’t know what it’s for.” 

“Give it back,” said Prouter. “A man who doesn’t 
know what stuff is intended for doesn’t know enough 
to make up stuff for me.” 

In the next shop he entered, the attendant in charge 
expressed it as his opinion that the ointment was in- 
tended for a cut or a wound of some sort. 

“Good ! ” said Prouter. “You know your business. 
Go on and make it up. I’ll take a spin along the 
street, and come back and get it.” 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Surrey’s wound was not a severe one and healed 
rapidly, but it was four days before his physician told 
him that he was fit to travel. During this time 
Prouter remained at the hotel, giving Surrey a good 
deal of gruff and vituperative social intercourse, and 
attending to his various needs and wants with every 
indication of hearty disapproval. 

Surrey never asked him how long he was going to 
stay in Atlanta, nor why he stayed at all. He knew 
his man too well and found him too useful to enter 
into the discussion of that subject. He bore with 
unruffled good humor the most bloodthirsty hopes for 
his speedy extinction, and the reiterated expressions 
of undying hatred of his purposes, his principles, and 
his practices, and when he wanted anything done he 
asked Prouter to do it, and in every instance it was 
done. Thus it happened that these two left Atlanta 
together and journeyed to Bolton, Prouter much an- 
gered by the notion, which had suddenly come to him, 
that by this time Dunworth might have met with some 
one else who had a milk route to sell, and had bought it. 

A short time before their train reached Bolton, 
Prouter came to Surrey— they occupied seats at some 
distance from each other— and said : “What are you 
going to do? Will you travel on to your home— if 
you have any— or do you intend to stop at Bolton and 
make more trouble ? ” 

“I shall go straight on to New York,” said Surrey. 
“Didn’t you know that I bought a through ticket at 
Atlanta?” 

“How should I know?” said Prouter. “I wasn’t 
listening to you when you booked. And, besides, 
people may stop over on through tickets.” 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“But I shall not,” said Surrey. 

Pr outer stood for some moments, bracing himself, on 
account of the motion of the car, against the side of 
Surrey’s seat. “That will be the best thing you can 
do,” he said. “I don’t suppose there is a person in 
these parts who doesn’t hate you as he hates the 
devil.” 

At this remark a young woman in the seat in front 
of Surrey turned half round and looked at the two men, 
after which she resumed her former position, but lis- 
tened attentively to the rest of the conversation, while 
a man behind them fixed his eyes upon Prouter with 
an interested grin. 

“Do you intend to stay on here,” asked Surrey, 
“after you have got rid of your lean kine?” 

“Yes, I do,” said Prouter. “I am going into an- 
other business.” 

“Matrimony, perhaps?” asked Surrey. 

“It will be that if I choose it,” retorted the other. 

“Any particular person?” asked Surrey. 

Prouter did not immediately answer. He seemed 
to be considering the subject. “It may be a very 
particular person,” he said presently, “and Bald Hill 
is her home. And I want to say to you, fair and 
square, that if I go in for that sort of thing you’d 
better not get in my way ! There is nothing I’d pitch 
into quicker than a dog in a manger ! ” 

“For your own good and the comfort of the lady,” 
said Surrey, “I would advise you to drop that no- 
tion. Her affairs are settled. She is engaged to be 
married.” 

“She was, you mean,” said Prouter, quickly, “but 
that is broken off. If the whole thing hadn’t been 
403 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


knocked higher than a kite, as you Americans say, 
the man wouldn’t have gone off in one direction and 
the lady in another. I shall pitch in on my own 
account ! ” 

Surrey smiled. “I think you were going to men- 
tion some other business— something, perhaps, that 
you can do better.” 

“Of course I meant another business,” replied 
Prouter. “I am going into vine-growing. I decided to 
do that yesterday morning. I shall set out a big vine- 
yard. It will be a jolly sort of life. I’ll build a little 
house right in the middle of it, with windows all 
around, so that I can shoot the thieves who come after 
my grapes. Two rooms down-stairs and two up. 
Have a woman to come in and cook. Jolly indepen- 
dent, all that! I’ll sleep in one of the bedrooms 
myself. I dare say you’ll never have the cheek to 
show yourself in this part of the country again, but if 
you should ever happen to come down here on any 
decent business, and if no gentleman should want you 
in his house, you might stop with me.” 

“Thanks for making yourself such a striking excep- 
tion,” said Surrey. “If I come down here, and you 
have your little house, I’ll stop with you. But your 
plan for a snug bachelor’s establishment doesn’t agree 
with your matrimonial intentions.” 

“Confound it ! ” exclaimed Prouter. “That slipped 
my mind ! I’ll be hanged if you don’t always make 
trouble ! How you have knocked that thing into a 
cocked hat ! Of course she wouldn’t come to a shanty 
in a vineyard ! Every time you open your mouth or 
lift a finger you make trouble.” 

At this outburst Surrey was much amused, and so 
404 


/ 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

was the young woman in front and the man behind 
them. 

“Don’t be angry/’ said Surrey. “Perhaps I may 
meet somebody who wants to go into milk, and if I 
do, I’ll send him straight down to you.” 

“Milk!” said Prouter, scornfully, and he strode 
back to his seat. 


405 


I 


CHAPTER XXXVII 

When Ardis, with her friends, reached Bolton, she 
was met by a delighted but astonished father. He had 
been informed by telegraph that they would arrive, 
but he could not imagine why she and the Chiverleys 
should wish to be in Virginia at this season. To come 
from the South to this raw, chilly air, to the dreary 
roads, rendered almost impassable by the thawing of 
the red clay, and to the general unpleasantness of a 
country landscape just emerging from winter into a 
very uncertain and sloppy spring, was not what he 
should have expected of them. 

But that Ardis wanted to come to her home and to 
him, no matter at what season, was a joy to his heart 
until the two had sat together by the library fire and 
she had told him her story. 

She began at the beginning and told him every- 
thing, and, as he listened, sometimes his eyes filled 
with tears of fatherly affection, and sometimes they 
sparkled with fatherly pride. Did ever man have 
such a daughter? But when, at last, she told him 
how it had all ended, his heart sank and he bowed his 
head. He was greatly grieved and disappointed. But 
when Ardis had finished, and looked up into his face, 
waiting for him to speak, he took her into his arms 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

and pressed her brave heart against one every whit as 
brave. 

“My dear child/’ he said, “I sorrow much that the 
end of it all should be what it is, but had I been in 
your place, I would have done what you did, provided, 
indeed, I had had the courage to carry out my prin- 
ciples. And for all that you have dared, and for all 
that you have done, and for all that you have lost, I 
love you better than I ever did before.” 

After this the father and daughter talked no more 
upon the subject. Ardis endeavored, in a measure, to 
resume her ordinary Bald Hill life, but she did not 
make a success of it. Planks had to be laid, on which 
she could walk to her studio, and when she got there 
she found the great room very cold and disagreeable, 
the largest of wood fires failing to make much impres- 
sion upon its stored-up chilliness. 

Norma Cranton tried to get over to see Ardis, but 
the road between Heatherley and Bald Hill was very 
bad, and when she had gone about half-way her car- 
riage stuck fast, and she had to be taken back home 
in an ox-cart. 

Besides Hr. Lester, who would have walked on a 
fence-top to get to Bald Hill, Ardis had but one vis- 
itor — Mr. Egbert Balrymple. He had been enjoying a 
social season in Washington, and had thrown up all 
the delights of the capital upon hearing that Miss 
Claverden had returned to her home. 

On the day after his arrival at his father’s house, 
he presented himself at Bald Hill in a new suit, of 
the shade of a pussy-willow, and a blossom of pre- 
mature spring in his buttonhole, while his legs, and 
even the skirts of his coat, were bountifully bedecked 
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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


by the red and very seasonable splashes of color be- 
stowed upon them by the road. Several times his horse 
had been almost mired, but Mr. Dalrymple was bound 
to reach Bald Hill, and by dint of making several 
cross-country cuts he succeeded. 

This young gentleman did not in the least endeavor 
to disguise the object of his visit. He came to woo 
Miss Claverden, and the plainer this purpose should 
be to all parties who had a right to be concerned, the 
better he would be satisfied. He did not know, nor 
did he care to know, whether or not she was engaged 
to any one else. He intended to woo and to win her, 
and to the consideration of obstacles he gave no thought 
whatever. 

As opportunities for private converse with Ardis 
were extremely uncertain, Mr. Dalrymple had deter- 
mined to declare his passion during this morning visit, 
and he certainly would have done so if Mrs. Chiverley 
had given him a chance. The soul of that lady was 
filled with thoughts of Ardis, and she watched her 
with that tender solicitude which a woman has who 
grieves for another. With that clear vision which 
enabled her to see what people ought to paint as well 
as what they had painted, she saw the purpose which 
this young man had painted on his countenance, and 
she resolved that she would give him no opportunity 
to worry Ardis. 

She succeeded perfectly in warding off Mr. Dal- 
rymple’s intended action, and at last that young man 
suddenly arose, took abrupt leave of Ardis, not noticing 
the other lady, and went out. He stopped for a mo- 
ment on the porch. Folding his arms, he looked about 
him, at the milk-and-water-colored sky, the oozy lawn, 
408 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


and upon the bare-twigged trees, vainly holding up 
their rounded but still tightly imprisoned buds to the 
impotent and sickly rays of an intermittent sun. He 
frowned and nodded his head, then, ejaculating “So ! ” 
he went down and mounted his muddy horse. 

As he slowly waded and splashed home, the soul of 
Egbert Dalrymple was filled with loathing for that 
woman, Mrs. Chiverley. He had never met any one 
who acted so disastrously upon the harmonies of his 
nature. She unattuned him. She jangled the chords 
of his every sympathy. He had never seen any one 
who had so slight an appreciation of the fit. If she 
had remained quietly seated in the room wherein he 
had stood gazing down upon Ardis, it would have been 
better, for then he would have invited the impulse of 
his dreams to stroll with him in the open. But just 
as he had thought to speak of this, this woman 
would go out, and then, before he could subdue the 
discord in his soul, back she would come, bringing 
her utterly extraneous husband, with whom she said 
she was sure he, Egbert Dalrymple, would be glad to 
be acquainted. Bah ! what a world ! It would be 
simply impossible for him to touch the strings of his 
passion’s lute if he did but know that such a woman 
was in the house ! Happily, he had heard her say that 
her stay at Bald Hill would not be long. He would 
give her time to depart, and then he would return, 
and, again standing before Ardis, would touch that 
note which must raise in her fair soul a vibrant swell. 

In four days he came again, and found that Mr. and 
Mrs. Chiverley had gone to New York and had taken 
Ardis with them. When this news was delivered to 
him by a servant at the door, he turned, without a 
409 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


word, and went away. Not even his favorite mono- 
syllable was tossed out upon the moisty air. When he 
reached his home, he muttered to his family a few 
words indicating his intention to depart, tossed care- 
lessly some articles of clothing into a valise, and gave 
orders for something to take him to the station. When 
his sister asked him to leave his address, he gazed for 
a few moments, over her head, and then said : 

“ Write to me at the outer courts of Paradise.” 

“Does that mean, ‘Care Mr. John S. Buckley, 386 
Lafayette Place, New York ? f ” 

“As you will,” he said, and went his way. 

Mr. and Mrs. Chiverley had talked a good deal upon 
the subject on which Major Claverden and his daugh- 
ter spoke not at all, and they had not found it difficult 
to convince each other that Ardis ought not to stay at 
Bald Hill, but should go with them to New York and 
finish the visit that had been so suddenly broken off. 
In New York they could give her a great many other 
things to think about. They did not expect to drive 
from her mind the recollection that she had been 
forced to discard the man she truly loved, but they 
hoped to cramp and crowd those recollections. 

These ideas of the Chiverleys were strongly indorsed 
by the major. The great desire of his life was to see 
his daughter happy. He even preferred to have her 
happy than to have her with him. He believed she 
was much more likely to be happy in New York than 
at Bald Hill, and he urged her to go with her friends. 
He had other reasons for Ardis’s continuance of her 
visit to the Chiverleys than those he gave her. He 
mourned deeply this breaking off of the match which 
he had had in his heart, and he could mourn better 
410 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


if she were away. Now, although she could not be 
said to be cheerful, she neither spoke of the storm 
through which she had passed, nor did she allow its 
effects to appear upon her, and so long as she preserved 
this demeanor, he could do no less than to observe one 
equally as unperturbed, and this did not suit the major. 
When anything was the matter with him he liked to 
show it. An honest exhibition of his grief did him good. 

It was not difficult to persuade Ardis, at this time, 
that the metropolis was a better place for her than her 
Virginia home. She was too young, she said to her- 
self, to allow this great unhappiness to overshadow all 
that part of her life which was to come. And if it 
were right to do a thing, it must also be right to en- 
deavor to cease to regret the doing of it. She would 
go away for a time, and then she would come back to 
her father the same cheerful, earnest daughter, the 
same enthusiastic worker at her art, and the same 
cheerful manager of her household that she had been 
the spring before. She might find she had been too 
much hurt to do all this, but she resolved to try, and 
she had great faith in herself. 

Thus it was that Ardis and the Chiverleys started 
for New York on the day before the two travelling 
companions, Messrs. Surrey and Prouter, reached 
Bolton. The first of these continued on his Northern 
journey, while Prouter repaired to his home at the 
Quantrills’, enlivened by a new idea. He would talk 
over his affairs with Miss Airpenny. Perhaps that 
very sensible and practical old frump might like to 
undertake the management of a milk route. He con- 
sidered it a great piece of stupidity in himself that he 
had not sooner thought of this. 

411 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


As soon as Major Claverden had been left to him- 
self, General Tredner having gone away some time 
before, he sent for Dr. Lester to come and make him 
a protracted visit. And now, day after day, these two 
sat over their books, their newspapers, and their back- 
gammon, and night after night they smoked their 
pipes before the wood fire in the great library fire- 
place, and the major talked and the doctor listened. 

“A better man than Roger Dunworth,” the major 
said, not once, but often, “ couldn’t have been found 
for Ardis. I think yon will admit that, sir. Every- 
body will admit that.” 

Here the doctor would remove his pipe from his lips 
and bow his head affirmatively. 

“He is a Virginian, he is a neighbor, his father was 
my friend, and his grandfather was a friend of my 
father. I have looked upon him, sir, as one who was 
born to be the husband of my daughter. As a man, 
what more could be desired? Noble to look upon, 
with the soul of his fathers in a strong and handsome 
body, and, in character, just the man I should have 
chosen— brave, trustworthy, honorable, and far beyond 
the young men of this day and region in those qualities 
which bring success and prosperity. I tell you, sir, it 
is too bad ! It is too bad ! And what makes it worse, 
sir, what makes it crushing to me, is that there is not 
another man whom I have ever known, or whom I 
have ever seen, who is suitable or worthy to be the 
husband of my daughter. In other parts of the coun- 
try there may be such men, but they are not Virgin- 
ians, they are not my neighbors, and I do not wish to 
consider them. Can you tell me, doctor, of a man in 
this part of the country, in all the circle of our ac- 
412 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


quaintance, in whose hands yon would advise me to 
lay the hand of my daughter, and say to him, ‘Take 
her’?” 

At such words as these the doctor would look into 
the fire and harden his face, but he could not harden 
it so hard that the major would not lean over and, 
putting his hand on his shoulder, say : 

“I see that you sympathize with me, good old friend. 
I can see that plainly enough.” 

‘“Good old friend’ !” the doctor would sometimes 
repeat to himself. And at this period he was a younger 
man than the major had been when he married his 
wife. 

In about ten days from the time he left Atlanta, 
Roger Dunworth returned to his home, much to the 
relief of Messrs. Parchester, Skitt, and Cruppledean, 
who were beginning to be a good deal discouraged 
by the apparently indefinite absence of their chief. 
Roger came home because that was the right thing for 
him to do, and because there was no longer any reason 
why he should stay away. He had left his home be- 
fore because it was absolutely impossible for him to 
remain in a place where he could see the woman, his 
love for whom had grown into an all-absorbing and 
overpowering passion, actually loving another man, 
and that man Surrey. 

But now he knew there was nothing of the kind 
between Surrey and Ardis. There was nothing be- 
tween Ardis and himself. His place in life was now 
upon his farm, with his crops, his cattle, and his horses ; 
his Parchesters, his Skitts, and his Cruppledeans. And 
to these he went. 


413 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 

One morning, after a cold night in which the roadway 
had been frozen into ridges and lumps, Hr. Lester 
walked over from Bald Hill to his house to get a book 
which he wanted, and to see if anything had happened 
to his belongings. Instead of finding the place quiet 
and deserted, as he had expected, he was surprised to 
see smoke curling from the chimney, and, as he ap- 
proached nearer, to hear some one moving within. 

He hastened to the door, which he found locked, as 
he had left it, and when he had somewhat nervously 
thrust in his key and opened it, he beheld his friend 
Bonetti, comfortably seated in an arm-chair before 
a fire, with another chair by his side. 

The philosophizer arose and extended his hand. 
“How d’ye do, doctor?” he said. “I’m right glad to 
see you back again. I heard you’d got home, but I 
couldn’t get up here to see you, the walkin’ was too 
powerful sticky.” 

“How did you get in?” asked the doctor. 

“Easy enough,” said Bonetti. “I knew that back 
window wasn’t fastened, for it never is— at least, the 
fastenings don’t amount to anything. Then, as I 
reckoned you’d be back before long, I just made up a 
414 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


fire and waited. I saw yon cornin’, and I put this 
chair here for you. Sit down and warm yourself.” 

The doctor did not look very well satisfied at having 
his home invaded in this way. “You might have 
waited a long time, Bonnet,” he said. “I am now 
staying at Bald Hill, and merely happened to come 
here this morning. I am going back presently, before 
the road begins to thaw.” 

“But sit down first,” said Bonetti, “and tell me what 
has happened. I’m just ranklin’ to know how things 
have turned out. What I’ve heard I don’t understand. 
Miss Ardis has come home and gone away again, and 
Roger Dunworth, I hear, has just got home. What’s 
the meanin’ of all that?” 

The doctor did not sit down, but stood gazing at his 
companion with an unusual severity of expression. 
“Bonnet,” said he, “there is one thing I should like 
to ask you. In what way did Surrey and that young 
Englishman, Pr outer, come to know that MissClaverden 
was at Atlanta? There was no reason why those two 
men should have supposed she was in that city, if they 
had not been told of it, and told, too, of the very hotel 
at which she and the rest of the party intended to stop. 
Now, Bonnet, as far as I know, nobody in this part of 
the country but you knew our address. W e were very 
careful to keep it private.” 

“Which was right, perfectly right,” said Bonetti, 
leaning forward and extending his hands toward the 
fire. “But you can be certain of one thing : I didn’t 
tell them she was there. I never saw Surrey at all, 
and didn’t know he went down there. What the 
mischief did he go down there for? Has he been 
making more trouble ? I wish I had broken his neck.” 

415 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“ Instead of that, I am afraid, Bonnet, you have 
broken your word. I presume, from what you say, 
that you did know Prouter was going down there, 
and, consequently, that you told him where to go.” 

“Now, look here, doctor,” said Bonetti, “you are 
getting rather hard upon a man. I say, as I did be- 
fore, that I never told anybody where Miss Ardis was. 
If I said anything to Prouter about Atlanta, it was 
merely a matter of business. He wanted to see Mr. 
Dunworth on a matter of buyin’ and sellin’, and it was 
necessary he should know where he was, so, if I said 
anything to him on that subject, it was out-an-out a 
matter of business, and had nothing to do with Miss 
Ardis, or Surrey, either.” 

“Bonnet,” said the doctor, speaking more sternly 
than the other had ever heard him speak, “you knew 
that Miss Ardis was going to Koger Dunworth, and 
that wherever he was she was, and you deliberately 
broke your word to me, and told Prouter. I suppose 
he told Surrey, for they came down together, and there 
has been great trouble, and a duel has been fought, 
and the engagement between Roger Dunworth and 
Ardis Claverden has been broken off finally. And 
you are at the bottom of it all ! All the grief, the 
desolation, the misery, which has fallen upon the Clav- 
erden family and upon Roger Dunworth has been 
caused by you ! ” 

“A duel!” exclaimed Bonetti. “That, I reckon, 
was between Dunworth and Surrey. I hope Surrey 
was killed ! ” 

“He was not!” the doctor said angrily. “And is 
that all you have to say about the consequences of 
your unpardonable treachery?” 

416 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“It appears to me,” said Bonetti, “that you are 
allowin’ yourself to get right sharp riled. I didn’t 
make anybody fight a duel.” 

“You are the cause of every evil thing that hap- 
pened,” said the doctor. “If it had not been for you, 
those men would not have gone down there, and at 
this moment Ardis Claverden would have been a 
happy betrothed woman in her father’s house. In- 
stead of that, misery, misery, misery ! ” 

“Upon my word,” said Bonetti, “this is a little bit 
too much for me to tackle ! Feelin’ as you once did 
in that direction,— and, with you, when that sort of 
thing comes once it stays always,— I don’t see why you 
trouble yourself so much that that match is broken 
off ! Even if you can’t get a girl yourself, it’s a com- 
fort to know that no one else has got her.” 

“Bonnet ! ” cried the doctor, “now you have twice 
broken your word to me, for you vowed you would 
never mention that subject again. At the bottom 
of every feeling I have, or ever had, toward Ardis 
Claverden, is the strongest desire for her happiness, 
and all that I have done has been done hoping to 
make her happy. A marriage with Roger Dunworth 
was the only thing in the world which could have 
made her truly happy, and this would have been 
brought about but for your infernal treachery. Bon- 
net, from this moment you are no friend of mine ! ” 
And, with flashing eyes, the doctor stepped to a shelf 
to get the book he had come for. 

“Doctor,” said Bonetti, turning toward him, “never 
in my life did I see you in such a temper ! And it 
appears to me you are not showing good judgment. 
Now, a friend with some sense in him, that you can 
417 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


tackle to or have him tackle to you whenever there’s 
need for it, is not to be got every day. And if he runs 
a little short in this thing or that thing, that doesn’t 
prove he hasn’t got a pretty good stock on hand of 
what you’d be likely to want some time or other, if 
not just this minute. So it’s my advice to you to 
think over that matter a little. A friend’s a friend, 
and a man ought to be mighty careful about lettin’ 
’em slide. If you were to stick to that notion, it would 
be as hard on me as it would be on you. Why, one 
of the things I came up here to-day to speak to you 
about was to ask you what you had done with your 
horse. You might as well have let me have the use of 
him all the time you were away, and, for that matter, 
now, for if you are stayin’ at Bald Hill you’ll not be 
likely to need him. There’s plenty of horses there.” 

To these words Dr. Lester had, apparently, paid no 
attention, but had busied himself in boring a hole in 
the lower sash of his back window, into which he had 
driven a screw, so that the window could not be opened 
from the outside. When he had finished this job, he 
turned to Bonetti and said : “I am now going back to 
Bald Hill, and shall shut up this house.” 

And stepping to the fire, he pushed together the 
burnt remains of the small sticks of which it had been 
made, and covered them with ashes. Bonetti silently 
watched these movements of the doctor, and when 
he went to the door Bonetti followed him. The two 
stepped out, and the door was locked behind them. 

The doctor strode away toward Bald Hill as rapidly 
as the condition of the roads would allow, and as 
Bonetti’s way home was in the same direction, he fol- 
lowed. But the doctor’s long legs carried him on at 
418 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


a rate which it was almost impossible for Bonetti 
to maintain, and, although several times he tried to 
speak to the doctor, he was obliged to fall back before 
he could finish his remark. Dr. Lester paid no atten- 
tion whatever to his companion, and when he reached 
a spot where he could make an advantageous short 
cut over a long, sloping pasture-field, he climbed the 
roadside fence and made his way across the field. 

Bonetti hesitated for a moment, for this detour 
would take him out of his way, but he wished very 
much to speak to the doctor, and so he climbed the fence 
and followed him. The surface of the half-dead turf 
was rather rough, but it made better footway than the 
road, and Bonetti was able to break into a little trot, 
and thus to overtake the doctor. 

“Look here,” said he, running by the side of the 
other, “this sort of thing ain’t goin’ to pay. I don’t 
say anything about what has riled you. A man has 
got a right to be riled, if he wants to be, and very 
often it does him good. If you want to blaze out 
against me for what you say I have done, blaze away ! 
I don’t mind. You’ve got a right to do it, and I won’t 
hinder. But this cuttin’ loose altogether is a different 
kind of thing. It won’t do for you, and it won’t do 
for me. If you would just reason on that point you’d 
see it for yourself. What’s done is done, and the right 
thing to do now is to begin all over again. If you can 
get any good out of me, and I can get any good out of 
you, all we get is clear gain. And what’s the sense in 
thro win’ it away? To cut loose like this don’t stand 
to reason, and it isn’t Christian. It’s settin’ a bad 
example to the whole neighborhood.” 

At this point the doctor climbed another fence, 
419 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


and kept on his way without making any answer to 
Bonetti’s appeals. The latter still followed, speaking 
whenever he got a chance, until they had really reached 
the Bald Hill house, when the two separated, Bonetti 
going round to the back, and the doctor keeping on 
to the front door. 

Bonetti was very much cast down. Few things 
could be so injurious to his happiness and his general 
well-being as a breach with Dr. Lester. To this fel- 
low-philosophizer he had been in the habit, for years, 
of going, not very much for advice, but for all manner 
of assistance and comfort. And, although he did not 
always get what he asked for, the average result was 
very favorable. 

“I reckon,” said Bonetti, as, with his hands in his 
pockets, he walked round the back of the house toward 
the barns, “that I’d about as lief lose my back teeth as 
split with the doctor. Confound that black-hearted 
scoundrel Surrey ! He’s always makin’ trouble be- 
tweemfriends. I wish I had thrown him into the bot- 
tomless pit of the Bidgeby Caves ! How d’ye, Uncle 
Shad? You don’t find much to do in these days, do 
you? The winter seems to hang on.” 

“Not much to do !” said the old negro, letting his 
axe rest on the log he was cutting. “Why, Mistah 
Bonnet, dar’s on’y free times in de whole cohse ob de 
yeah dat dere ain’t no wuck to do, an’ dem’s eatin’- 
time, sleepin’-time, an’ chu’ch-time.” 

Bonetti shrugged his shoulders. “It ain’t church- 
time now, Uncle Shad, and you needn’t preach. So 
your Miss Ardis has gone off again, has she ? ” 

“Yaas, sah,” said the old man. “She’s done gone 
off, an’ it ’pears like to we-all as if nobody lived at 
Bald Hill.” 


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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“ There’s no sense in that!” said Bonetti. “The 
major is here, all the same, and Miss Ardis is in the 
habit of goin’ away every winter.” 

“Dat’s so, Mistah Bonnet,” said Uncle Shad, “but 
dis time is pow’ful dif rent from any udder time. 
Eb’ry udder time she say she go on one day, an’ she 
say she come back on anudder day, an’ on dat udder 
day back she come, shuh as clock-strikin’. But now 
I reckon she neber come back no mo’. We-all 
’spected a weddin’ heah, wid Mistah Dunworf, but 
dat’s done smash up. We’s come to de ’elusion dat 
Miss Ardis’ll mahry some gemman up Norf, an’ send 
for de major to come lib wid her.” 

“Humph ! ” said Bonetti. “You colored people do 
too much thinkin’. It injures your brains, and you 
ought to stop it.” 

“Don’ know ’bout dat,” said Uncle Shad, reflectively. 
“Mos’ ob our brains hab got putty hard shells, an’ 
dey ain’t likely to split wid de thinkin’ we-all’s got 
to do. An’ you know, Mistah Bonnet, we-all’s ’bliged 
to think ’bout gittin’ mahr’ed.” 

“Obliged ! ” said Bonetti, with a sneer. “It would 
be better for you and everybody else if you would let 
that sort of thing alone, and stick to your work.” 

“Bress your soul, Mistah Bonnet ! ” said Uncle Shad, 
“I reckon dat ef de white folks listen to what we-all 
say dey’d sometimes do better. Now, dar’s Mis’ Bon- 
net. If she’d listened to we-all, she’d gone an’ mah- 
r’ed some kind o’ man who’d split wood fer her, an’ tote 
it, too, when de snow’s on de groun’, an’ gib her meat 
more’n two or free times a week, an’ send her da’ters 
to school when dey was growed up enough. But 
thinkin’ ain’t no good now, an’ she’s got to go ’long 
an’ do her own pickin’ an’ scratchin’.” 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“And you’d better go along and cut your wood/’ 
said Bonetti, “instead of standin’ there and talkin’ 
like a mush-head.” 

“Dat’s so/’ said Uncle Shad. And, with a broad 
grin, he whanged his axe into the log. 

Bonetti walked away with his hands in his pockets. 
“This ought to have been the first of April,” he mut- 
tered, “for it is certainly Fools’ Day ! ” 

Then he passed by the farm-buildings and servants’ 
houses, went down the hill, and made his way across 
the fields to his home. 


422 


CHAPTEB XXXIX 


It was quite natural that the Chiverleys should have 
been disappointed at being obliged to give up their 
proposed sketching tour in the South. But it was 
quite as natural, considering they were the Chiv- 
erleys, that, once again established in their loved 
studio, they should say to each other a dozen times a 
day how much better it was, at this season of the year, 
to be at home and at work, than to be wandering about 
in the South making sketches. 

They had made many studies of Southern scenery, 
and while Mrs. Chiverley set herself to work to finish 
the little picture on which she had been engaged at 
the time of their sudden departure from home, her 
husband got out a large, new canvas, and with hearty 
enthusiasm began a picture portraying the scenery of 
northern Georgia as it had never been portrayed 
before. 

Ardis, too, set up her easel. She had brought her 
painting outfit with her, and proposed going earnestly 
to work, with Mr. Chiverley as instructor in color and 
manipulation. There was nothing drooping or stricken 
in the appearance of this young lady. She had de- 
liberately resolved that her life was not to be overshad- 
owed by what had happened, and whenever there was 
423 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


an opportunity to step into warmth and brightness, 
she took that step. She was not trying to appear to 
others that she was unstricken ; she was resolutely con- 
vincing herself that, this thing being over, she was the 
same brave, independent, earnest woman she had been 
before. 

Mrs. Chiverley could not entirely sympathize with 
this state of mind. A great affliction— and she knew 
Ardis had been greatly afflicted— called for a certain 
amount of consequent sobriety. One might dance, 
but it must not be jigs. Now, Ardis liked jigs. 

“My dear child , 77 she said to Mrs. Chiverley, “why 
shouldn’t I take part in the tableaux of the homoeo- 
pathic patronesses'? Nobody has died and we are not 
wearing mourning . 77 

And in the tableaux she took part. 

“There is something under all this , 77 thought Mrs. 
Chiverley. But, whatever was under, that which was 
above was most charming and captivating to man, 
woman, and child. 

Easter came early this year, and in the revival of 
social festivities Ardis was quite willing to take an 
animated part. Her aunt was now in New York, and 
anxious to witness the triumph of her niece in fashion- 
able life, and although Ardis would not leave the 
Chiverleys for her aunt’s hotel, she went with that 
lady to balls, receptions, germans, and private theat- 
ricals, and wherever she went her success was great. 
To her beauty and her bright intelligence was added 
a certain dash of manner, born of the independent 
spirit which lay at the base of her being, which carried 
all before it, women as well as men. Her aunt was 
very proud and very hopeful. 

424 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“What she must do,” she thought, “is to go with me 
to Europe. There are personages of high degree who 
come over here, hut the better ones remain at home.” 

On a certain gay occasion Ardis met Mr. Egbert 
Dalrymple. The moment this young man’s eyes fell 
upon her, he stalked across the room toward her. 
Ardis was earnestly engaged in conversation with a 
gentleman, but Dalrymple drew up a chair, and in- 
jected so much of his emotional being into a few open- 
ing remarks that the other man departed as if he 
were the intruder. 

This young man now appeared more interesting to 
Ardis than he had been in Virginia. There he was a 
bore ; here his oddities threw him into an amusing 
relief. As for Dalrymple himself, he glowed. When 
not actually with Ardis, he was near her, his large eyes 
ever on her. In the course of the evening she waltzed 
with him, and when that dance was over, and he had 
been assured he had no chance for another, the young 
man abruptly left the house and telegraphed to his 
sister : 

“No longer in the outer courts of heaven, but in its 
inmost shining halls.” 

“He has met that Claverden girl, and of course he 
is on his knees before her ! ” said Miss Dalrymple, the 
next morning, as she threw the telegram into the fire. 
“Heaven, indeed ! He will find it quite the oppo- 
site ! ” 

The Chiverleys talked a great deal about Ardis. “It 
is not correct, my dear,” said Mr. Chiverley, one morn- 
ing, leaning back in his chair to fix a critical gaze 
upon a combination of color he was working into the 
425 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


trunk of a tree, “to say that her memory must linger. 
In my experience of life, stretching over a period not 
necessary to recall, I have found that memories don’t 
linger. We pass through stages of action and feeling, 
and we begin again. Ardis will begin again.” 

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself to talk in 
that way ! ” said his wife. “How many stages did you 
pass through, I should like to know, before you entered 
your present one? And how many more do you ex- 
pect to enter, should you get through with this ? ” 

“By ‘this’ I suppose you mean our wedded life,” 
said Mr. Chiverley, putting in some touches of gray to 
simulate moss, “which is, as you ought to know, one 
all-absorbing stage. It began when our affections first 
came of age, and will continue until there is nothing 
left of them. This is very different from that. That 
is broken off, snapped short, done with. And, at her 
age, there is the certainty that she will begin again.” 

“What you say is pure assumption,” said Mrs. 
Chiverley. 

“You may think so, my dear,” said Mr. Chiverley, 
“but if you would trust to the judgment of your only 
husband you would do well. What he says may ap» 
pear improbable at the moment, but, as time rolls on, 
the correctness of his conclusions becomes so unmis- 
takably obvious that you imagine you always thought 
that way yourself.” 

“I do nothing of the kind,” said Mrs. Chiverley. 

“But he never hesitates to seek the aid of a col- 
lateral intelligence, and, therefore, would be very much 
obliged to you, madam, if you would take a look at 
this tree and tell him if it resembles, in any way, those 
massive trunks we saw in northern Georgia.” 

“Do you know what I would call that picture, if I 
426 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


were you?” said Mrs. Chiverley, after she had gazed 
at it a few moments. 

“I wish I did/’ said her husband, turning quickly 
toward her. 

“I would call it ‘The Seven Ages of Trees.’ There 
is the infant tree, and, near by, the sapling school-boy, 
with shining, morning face, and so they go on, includ- 
ing the fat justice over there, until they reach the 
second childishness of this aged trunk, inanely decorat- 
ing itself with Virginia creeper.” 

“A capital idea ! ” exclaimed Mr. Chiverley, “capi- 
tal ! But we must not allow our fancies to interfere 
with earnest purpose. This is a scene on the Upper 
Mississippi.” 

Mrs. Chiverley sighed. Earnest purpose seemed to 
do so little toward selling pictures ! At present the 
state of their “permanent gallery,” as Mr. Chiverley 
sometimes called his studio, began to weigh upon the 
mind of his wife. There were periods, coming round 
in tolerably regular cycles, when her mind was a good 
deal weighed upon in this way. 

The addition of Ardis to the studio family in no way 
increased the pressure on Mrs. Chiverley. In fact, it 
lightened it. On this second visit, Ardis, as a sister 
artist, had insisted upon becoming one of the family 
and paying her share of the expenses, and she paid, 
besides, at regular rates, for the tuition received from 
Mr. Chiverley. But, in order to make the financial 
affairs of the little party perfectly satisfactory, it was 
necessary that Mr. and Mrs. Chiverley should also pay 
their share of the expenses, and at this time there was 
reason for doubt in regard to the power of the worthy 
pair to accomplish this. 

Where the picture bought by ex-Governor Upton 
427 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


had gone Mrs. Chiverley did not know, for it had ar- 
rived at Bald Hill securely boxed, and addressed to 
Ardis, who, of course, had been very careful not to 
have it opened during the stay of the Chiverleys in 
that house. But where the money had gone which 
paid for the picture, she knew very well, and, more 
than that, she knew it was all gone. 

Every day at twelve o’clock Mr. Chiverley promptly 
ceased from his labors, and went out to take a brisk 
walk until one, which was the luncheon-hour. It hap- 
pened, during one of these absences, that a middle-aged 
gentleman came into the studio. He came because he 
had recently discovered that this was a studio which 
he had never visited, and it would have lain hard upon 
his conscience to know of a studio in the city and to 
be ignorant of what was in it. 

The effect produced upon this gentleman was very 
much like the effect produced upon other gentlemen 
who visited this studio. In many of the pictures there 
was something which at first sight was attractive, but 
a careful examination almost always revealed some- 
thing else which was very disappointing. Thus the 
paintings were seldom condemned as a whole, but after 
a visitor had made the round of the room, it was quite 
the usual thing for him to go away without making 
any reference to a financial transaction. 

Ardis and Mrs. Chiverley, each at their easels, occa- 
sionally glanced at this gentleman, who had accepted 
the invitation of the latter to look about for himself. 
Neither of them had any hope, but each had a feeble 
desire to see if he looked longer at one picture than at 
another. Presently he stopped before Mr. Chiverley’s 
recently finished canvas. He stood there for some 
428 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


time, occasionally stepping a little back in order to 
get a better view, and tben coming closer again. Pres- 
ently be turned to Mrs. Chiverley. 

“Madam,” said be, “can yon tell me where tbe scene 
of this picture is laid? It reminds me somewhat of 
the North and somewhat of the South, and I am not 
sure that it does not contain suggestions of the East 
and the West.” 

“Yes,” thought Ardis, at her easel, “and of the 
Northeast, and the Sou’ -sou’ west, and all the other 
points of the compass.” 

Mrs. Chiverley left her seat and approached the 
visitor. She was a little piqued at his remark. 

“Some pictures have a meaning,” she said, “which 
is not apparent to every one at first sight.” 

“You are correct, madam,” said the visitor. 

“This painting, for instance,” continued Mrs. Chiv- 
erley, “represents the seven ages of trees.” And then, 
with as much readiness as Jacques detailed the seven 
ages of man to the duke, she pointed out in the trees 
of the picture the counterparts of these ages. 

“Madam,” said the visitor, “you delight me. I 
admit that I utterly failed to see the point of this 
picture, but now that I am aware of its meaning, I 
understand its apparent incongruities. Meaning de- 
spises locality.” 

“You are right,” said Mrs. Chiverley, earnestly. 
“Meaning is above everything.” 

“Madam,” said the gentleman, his eyes still fixed 
upon the canvas, “as a student of Shakespeare, as well 
as a collector, in a small way, of works of art, I desire 
to have this picture, provided its price is not beyond 
my means.” 


429 


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Mrs. Chiverley gazed at him in an uncertain way. 
She did not seem to take in the import of his remark. 

From her easel, Ardis now named the price which 
Mr. Chiverley had fixed upon for the picture. He 
never finished a painting without stating very em- 
phatically what he intended to ask for it. 

“That is reasonable / 7 said the gentleman, “and you 
may consider the picture mine . 77 And he handed Mrs. 
Chiverley his card. Then, imbued with a new interest 
in the studio, he walked about looking at others of the 
pictures. 

“This little study , 77 said he, “seems to me as if it 
ought to have a significance, but I declare I am again 
at fault . 77 

“Yes , 77 said Mrs. Chiverley, “it ought to have a 
significance. In fact, there is a significance connected 
with it. I could easily tell you what it is, but if you 
were afterwards to look at the picture you would see 
no such meaning in it . 77 

“Perhaps this is one of your husband’s earlier works , 77 
said the gentleman, “in which he was not able to ex- 
press his inspirations . 77 

“It is not one of my husband’s works , 77 said Mrs. 
Chiverley, “it is mine.” 

The visitor now glanced at the clock, which was 
ticking away more cheerfully than it had ticked for a 
long time, and said that he must go, but that he would 
come again to-morrow and look at more of the paint- 
ings, and probably would bring a friend with him. 

“The best time to come,” said Ardis, speaking 
quickly, “is between twelve and one. At that hour 
there is the best light on the pictures in this studio.” 

The moment the gentleman had departed, Ardis 
430 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


flew to Mrs. Chiverley and threw her arms round her 
neck. “Now, my dearest,” she exclaimed, “you know 
your vocation in life. You must put meanings to Mr. 
Chiverley’s pictures.” 

When the head of the house returned, he was, of 
course, delighted to find that his painting had been 
sold. 

“That is the way with us ! ” he cried. “We have 
spasms of prosperity. One of our works is bought, 
and up we go. Let us so live while we are up that 
we shall not remember that we have ever been down. 
And now, my dear, if you will give me the card of 
that exceptional appreciator of high art, I will write 
his bill and receipt instantly, so that, if he should 
again happen to come while I am out, there may be 
nothing in the way of an immediate settlement.” 

Mrs. Chiverley stood by him as he sat at the desk. 
“You must call the picture,” she said, “‘The Seven 
Ages of Trees.’ ” 

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Mr. Chiverley, turning 
suddenly and gazing with astonishment at his wife. 
“That will do for a bit of pleasantry, but the title of 
the picture is ‘A Scene on the Upper Mississippi.’ 
You don’t want to deceive the man, do you?” 

“No, I do not,” said Mrs. Chiverley, “and that is 
one reason why I did not give it your title. It is a 
capitally painted picture, and as a woodland ‘Seven 
Ages ’ it is simply perfect. That was what it was sold 
for, and for that, and nothing else, will the money 
be paid.” 

Mr. Chiverley looked at her for a moment longer, 
and then, ’bursting into a laugh, he returned to his 
desk. “You have touched me to the quick,” he said. 

431 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“ Money has given title before, and it shall do it now. 
There is the receipted bill ! ” he cried, pushing back 
his chair. “And now I shall run down and get some- 
thing of the pop variety to add to our luncheon. We 
ought to have an uncommonly good meal to celebrate 
this happy anniversary. But,’ 7 he said, stopping for a 
moment, “ perhaps it has not been a year since we sold 
a picture.” 

“Go along,” said Mrs. Chiverley, with a laugh, “and 
let the pop be ginger-beer.” 

The impetuous, affectionate, and earnest admonition 
of Ardis went straight to the heart of Mrs. Chiverley. 

“Yes, that is what I will do,” she said, when the 
two were alone. “I will give meanings to Mr. Chiv- 
erley’s pictures. They have everything but that, and 
if I can give them what they lack, I am sure I ought 
to do it. For instance,” she continued, “look at that ! 
Mr. Chiverley calls it ‘ A Study of Two Women.’ But 
who in the world will care for it if it is looked upon 
simply as that? They are well painted, but they are 
not particularly interesting women. Now, I shall call 
it 1 The One shall be Taken, and the Other Left, ’ and 
don’t you see an interest immediately begins to grow 
up about it ? The mind of the observer is set to work. 
How shall one of them be taken? By death, by cap- 
tor, or by bridegroom ? And which one shall be taken ? 
And why? These will be very interesting points. 
People can decide as they please. And each one who 
looks at it will infuse a different subtlety into the 
picture.” 

The next day, at the hour at which he had been told 
that there was the best light on the pictures, the pur- 
chaser of “The Seven Ages” came again, bringing 
432 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


with him two friends. The three went around the 
studio with Mrs. Chiverley, and looked at the pictures 
with her eyes. 

“I did not suppose,” said the visitor of the day be- 
fore, turning to his friends, “that we had among us an 
artist so capable of locking up in an apparently ordi- 
nary exterior such lessons, such purports, such artistic 
admixture of the simple fact and the basic idea, and it 
is the unobtrusiveness of the idea which gives the work 
its greatest value.” 

“That is true,” said one of the others. “It is a bore 
to have motives thrust upon your attention. Pictures 
with those protuberant significations annoy me.” 

“Precisely,” said the third gentleman, “and although 
true art should always have a meaning, it should allow 
us to discover that meaning for ourselves. To evoke 
mental action in the beholder is one of the noblest 
objects of art.” 

“The Seven Ages ” was paid for, and two small pic- 
tures, which had been the subjects of remark by Mrs. 
Chiverley, were bought. 

From this day the prosperity of the Chiverleys 
began. They never grew rich, nor did the name of 
the painter ever become truly famous, but for people 
who liked brains in a picture the studio became a 
resort, and the sale of a painting ceased to be an un- 
usual event. 

Mrs. Chiverley made some attempt to get her hus- 
band to work a meaning into his pictures while he 
was painting them, but in this she did not succeed. 
When they were finished they always appeared to her 
to mean something entirely different from what had 
been originally proposed, and she was forced to admit 
433 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


to herself that it would be better to let him go on in 
his own way, and for her to work in the purports after 
he had done his part. It was, indeed, as she had dis- 
covered in her own work, a very difficult thing to 
work up a picture to a fixed significance. It was ever 
so much easier to adapt the significance to the picture. 

Mr. Chiverley soon learned that it was wise to allow 
his wife to have her own way in this matter, but now 
and then he rebelled. When she had worked out the 
meaning of a painting she would explain it to him, for 
it was not to be expected that his work would always 
be sold in his absence. 

“ Confound it, madam !” he exclaimed, on one of 
these occasions. “That is a painting of the salt-mines 
of Thurgis, and you call it ‘ The Patriarch’s Last Break- 
fast ’ ! It seems to me that is going a little too far.” 

“Not a bit of it ! ” replied Mrs. Chiverley. “We 
only see the entrance to the mines, anyway, and that 
will do as well for one kind of hole as another. And 
who will care for the salt-mines of Thurgis? As for 
that old man, sitting on a rock eating his simple meal, 
he doesn’t look in the least like a worker in the mines. 
He is too aged, and he is too well dressed. His pouch 
and his staff show him to be a traveller. He has 
stopped here to eat his morning meal, and he little 
dreams that those two figures in the middle distance, 
standing by the notch in the rocks through which he 
must pass, are waiting to murder and to rob him. The 
knowledge of this in the beholder of the picture gives 
an intensity of interest to that simple meal.” 

“I should say so ! ” cried Mr. Chiverley. “It is 
horrid ! I never painted such a blood-chilling subject 
in my life. Those men are peaceful operatives coming 
434 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


to their work. No, madam, that is not his last break- 
fast. I will not stand it. ” 

“Very well, then,” said Mrs. Chiverley. “Let us 
call it ‘The Wheel of Time.’ That dark opening is 
really the entrance to the mines, or workaday life. 
That old man has finished his labors. He comes out— 
he is no longer fit for work. He sits down, he takes his 
ease. Yonder are younger men coming to take his 
place. And so it goes on forever. The wheel of time 
revolves.” 

“It will not do,” said Mr. Chiverley. “Too gloomy. 
It will make me think of myself hobbling out of 
this studio and sitting on the curbstone eating a crust 
of bread.” 

Mrs. Chiverley earnestly regarded the picture for a 
few moments. “If that does not suit you,” she said, 
“suppose we call it ‘Dawn at Eve.’ Those figures are 
the old man’s sons. He has been wandering over the 
world looking for them. He considers himself near the 
end of his days, and close by is that yawning chasm 
which symbolizes to him the grave of hope. But in a 
few moments his sons will reach him, new life will 
dawn upon him— dawn at eve ! That title will suit 
the picture very well, because there is a tinge of sunset 
to the right, while on the other side there is a decided 
early -morning sky.” 

“Very good,” said Mr. Chiverley. “Let the salt- 
mines of Thurgis dawn ! But I must beg of you, my 
dear, that you will try to be on hand when the subject 
of this picture is explained. I am afraid I might get 
things mixed and call it ‘The Evening Breakfast/ or 
‘The Balt of Hope.’ ” 


435 


CHAPTER XL 


Xot very long after Mr. Egbert Dalrymple had waltzed 
with Ardis and telegraphed to his sister, he called at 
the studio. He did not come to buy pictures ; he 
ignored pictures. It would have been difficult for an 
ordinary observer to decide from his conduct what he 
had come for. After a nod to Mrs. Chiverley— her 
husband was not at home— and a silent hand -shake with 
Ardis, who was at work at her easel, he walked up and 
down the room, his eyes fixed upon what Mrs. Chiver- 
ley afterwards called “the middle future.” He disre- 
garded invitations to take a seat, and when Mrs. 
Chiverley, thinking it her duty, as mistress of the house, 
to endeavor to interest every visitor, asked him what 
he thought of Mr. Chiverley’s last picture, he stopped 
for a moment, turned his eyes toward her, and in a 
low and hollow tone inquired : “Is he, then, dead? ” 

This remark, notwithstanding its lugubrious nature, 
made both the ladies laugh, and Mrs. Chiverley apolo- 
gized for her incorrect expression. Mr. Dalrymple 
made no further remark, but continued his solemn 
perambulations, ever and anon glancing at Mrs. Chiv- 
erley as if he wished she had painted her last picture 
years upon years agone. 

This good lady knew very well what was the matter 
436 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


with him, and at last she felt she could no longer 
endure his striding and his gazing. Jumping up, she 
went over to Ardis and whispered to her : “ Shall I go 
out?” 

Ardis nodded, and putting on her hat, Mrs. Chiver- 
ley went out. 

The sound of her steps on the stairs had not died 
away when Egbert Dalrymple approached Ardis and 
sank upon his knees beside her easel. His feet were 
close together, with the toes turned up beneath them, 
and he sat well back upon his heels. His hands were 
clasped before him, his body was erect, and his yearn- 
ing countenance was raised toward Ardis. 

Her first impulse was to give him a dab of red paint 
on his nose from the brush she held in her hand, for it 
was difficult to take Egbert Dalrymple seriously. But 
this impulse, of course, was but momentary. 

“I need not speak,” he murmured. “ You know my 
soul— your soul. It is yours, as I am. Mind, soul, 
heart, body. I am yours. Only that— yours.” 

“If you were really mine,” said Ardis, “the first 
thing I should tell you to do would be to get up ; for 
if Mr. and Mrs. Chiverley come back and find you in 
that mediaeval position they will be sure to go instantly 
to work to sketch you.” 

“Here is my place,” he said. “At your feet always, 
through the forever. I am yours, only yours, else I 
exist not.” 

“Mr. Dalrymple,” said Ardis, “I thought you wanted 
to say something like this, and I am very glad you 
have had the opportunity, because, for my part, I wish 
to say that I absolutely and positively decline to 
accept you as mine. It will be of no use at all 
437 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

for you to allude to this subject again. So please 
get up.” 

The young man did not move from his position. 
“Your words make no difference,” he said. “I am 
yours, that is all I am. Tell the air you will not breathe 
it— tell me I am not yours. It is one.” 

By a most remarkable concatenation of circum- 
stances, it happened that at that moment it was just 
one o’clock, and as the clock asserted this fact in a 
clear, distinct tone, Mr. Chiverley, with his accustomed 
loyalty to luncheon-time, opened the door. 

At the first sound of his coming Egbert Dalrymple 
rose to his feet and turned a lowering countenance 
upon the incomer. Mr. Chiverley looked surprised 
when he saw him, but instantly approached with cor- 
dial salutation. 

Dalrymple, however, took no notice of his out- 
stretched hand, but standing for a moment with his 
eyes fixed upon the floor, he ejaculated “So ! ” and 
without the least pretence of leave-taking, he strode 
away. Mr. Chiverley burst out laughing, and Ardis 
could not help joining him. “What was it doing?” 
he asked. 

“Proposing and getting declined,” said Ardis. 

“I don’t mind luncheon being delayed,” said Mrs. 
Chiverley, who came in presently, “if Ardis is sure 
she has given that stalking glare his quietus.” 

“I have done my best,” said Ardis, “but I am by 
no means certain that I have succeeded.” 

Her doubts were well founded, for in two days a 
long letter arrived from Mr. Dalrymple, in which he 
stated that as it was impossible to be exempt from inane 
intrusion in the place where Miss Claverden was now 
438 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


staying, he was forced to picture his soul on paper. 
And this he did to the extent of eight pages. But in 
all his picturing appeared no allusion to what Ardis 
had said to him. It was his custom to ignore that 
which was distasteful. 

Ardis returned his letter, after reading a page or 
two of it, and briefly wrote that as he and his family 
were her neighbors at her native place, she wished 
always to remain on good terms with them, but any 
connection stronger than that of friendly neighbors 
was simply impossible, and she requested him to write 
her no more letters, and never again to return to the 
subject which he had broached at the studio. 

In a few days more she received another letter, 
which she sent back unopened, and it was not long 
after this that Mr. Dalrymple called upon her. For- 
tunately she was not at home. 

“It will be absolutely necessary to have him shot,” 
said Mr. Chiverley, afterwards. “This sort of perse- 
cution will not do at all.” 

“You need not trouble yourself to shoot him,” said 
Ardis. “I shall not open his letters, and if he presents 
himself again to me, I can effectually dispose of him. 
Now that I know what he really is, I shall show him 
what I can be.” 

Spring advanced ; the weather became more and 
more delightful. The festivities of society gradually 
disappeared, the people in the rural districts began 
to advertise admirable country residences eight min- 
utes’ walk from the railroad station, and Major Clav- 
erden wrote from Bald Hill that in that part of the 
world the joyful season called by him the “Ardis-time ” 
had come. 


439 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


So Ardis, reversing the action of the migratory birds, 
prepared to fly southward, to where the cool breezes 
from the Blue Ridge blew all summer over the hills 
and through the valleys of her native county. 

The Chiverleys, of course, bewailed her going, but 
as they were to visit Bald Hill in the summer, they 
bore up bravely. 

Her aunt showed that she had been greatly dis- 
appointed in the result of Ardis’s stay in New York. 

“It was all on account of your living in that studio,” 
she said. “If you had been here with me I believe 
you would have had half a dozen proposals during the 
past season, but of course nobody was going to call on 
you there.” 

Ardis laughed. “We had visits,” she said, “from a 
great many pleasant people. And more than that, I 
received in that studio a proposal of marriage.” 

“From whom?” asked her aunt, quickly. 

“From a gentleman who lives in the Bald Hill 
neighborhood, but who has spent part of the winter in 
this city.” 

“Humph ! ” said her aunt, “You can get plenty of 
that kind without coming here and going into society. 
Of course you rejected him? ” 

“Oh, yes,” said Ardis. 

“Next winter,” said her aunt, “you must positively 
come and stay with me, and if you want to study 
painting, you can go to your studio in the mornings. 
Then we shall see what we shall see.” 

“Yes,” said Ardis, “that is what we shall see.” 

If the rising of the sun, if the birds and flowers of 
spring, if the glories of the summer, if the full fruition 
of the vines and the golden wealth of the fields, had all 
440 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


come in one day to Major Claverden, they would have 
been paled, overshadowed, and rendered unnoticeable 
by the coming of his daughter. And no bird nor 
flower, sun nor season, was gayer or more beautiful or 
brighter than was Ardis. 

“She has got over it ! entirely over it ! It is easy 
to see that ! ” said the major to Dr. Lester, as, late on 
the evening of his daughter’s arrival, they sat in the 
library with their pipes. 

“Yes,” said the doctor, “I think she has.” 

Dr. Lester’s mental being was in a tremble. Ten 
times a minute, when he trembled the most, did he 
tell himself that there was no earthly reason nor justi- 
fication for any feeling of this kind. But still his 
mental being continued to tremble. 

“Of course I am glad,” the major went on to say, 
“very glad to see that my child has passed through 
this terrible ordeal without scar or scorch, but I can- 
not help feeling a little disappointment at the same 
time. If there had been the least sign in her manner 
that she remembered what had been, I should have 
felt a slight encouragement. But she asked about 
Roger Dunworth precisely as she would have inquired 
about one of those young Englishmen he is teaching 
to be farmers.” 

“Yes, I noticed that,” said the doctor. 

“I did not believe,” said the major, “that I could 
allow myself to drop into such a doleful train of 
thought on this happy day. But it is no wonder my 
spirits should be downcast when I consider that, leav- 
ing out Roger, there is not one man in the whole circle 
of my acquaintance to whom I would wish to give my 
daughter’s hand.” 


441 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


The doctor sighed and nodded. For some moments 
the two sat in silence. Then said the major : 

“Is yonr pipe out? ” 

“Yes,” replied the doctor. 

“Then suppose we go to bed/’ remarked his host. 

Life at Bald Hill now went on very much as it had 
gone in the past summer. Ardis painted, rode, and 
visited. People came and went. And the country 
grew beautiful, as it knew well how to grow. 

Roger Dunworth did not go to Bald Hill. He in- 
tended to do so, but he would wait awhile. He 
knew exactly how Ardis would receive him when he 
went. She would be to him the same kindly, charm- 
ing hostess that she was to everybody. In her de- 
meanor there would be nothing to suggest the past. 
For himself, he knew that his first meeting with her 
would be a heartbreaking plunge. He would have to 
take it, but not yet. 

A very faithful visitor to Bald Hill was Tom Prouter. 
This enterprising young man, having disposed of 
his milk business in a fragmentary manner,— that is to 
say, by selling some of the cows to Mr. Dunworth, some 
to a butcher, the only good horse to Miss Airpenny, 
and the wagons and utensils to anybody who would 
take them at any price,— had, with all the enthusiastic 
earnestness of his nature, taken up the life of a vine- 
grower. He had found a man who was desirous of 
laying down such a life, and had bought of him a vine- 
yard well planted but not yet in bearing, in the midst 
of which stood a little house of four rooms. 

Prouter was charmed to find everything thus ready 
to his hand. There was a living-room— parlor, library, 
study, or whatever one might choose to call it— in 
442 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


which he could have his meals and enjoy himself after 
his labors. Back of this room was a little kitchen, 
and above were two chambers, one for himself and one 
for a friend. His servants— as many as he might need 
— could sleep in their own cabins. 

He now launched himself boisterously into his new 
career. He began by having the little house painted, 
inside and out, and spared no money in furnishing it 
handsomely and comfortably. He put up a barn and 
other outbuildings, which somewhat dwarfed the 
house, and even planned for the planting of a grove of 
trees and a wooded avenue leading down to the main 
road. But having reflected that tall trees would shade 
his vines, he gave up this scheme. 

“This is a business,’ 7 he said to Miss Airpenny, who 
had ridden over to look at his place, “into which a 
man can put all the energy of his nature. Now, you 
couldn’t put all the energy of your nature into milk, 
could you ? ” 

“No, I couldn’t,” said Miss Airpenny. “It’s not a 
bad little house. What will you sell it for! ” 

“Sell it ! ” cried Tom Prouter, his face flushing its 
reddest. “Ho you suppose I would sell it? You 
might as well ask a man to sell his wife or his children 
as to sell his home, to which he intends to devote the 
thoughts and labors of his life, and where he expects 
to peacefully end his days ! A home is a home, and 
not a thing for bargain and sale ! ” 

“Really ! ” remarked Miss Airpenny. “And now let 
me see what sort of barn you have built.” 

As soon as the frost was out of the ground, Tom 
Prouter arose at daybreak, and worked with his own 
hands in his vineyard. This continued for about a 
443 


ARJDIS CLAVERDEN 


week, and then he found it would be better economy 
to employ some laborers and give most of his time to 
overseeing them. 

All now went on very well until Miss Ardis Claver- 
den returned to Bald Hill, and then Tom Prouter 
suddenly remembered that his bachelor establishment 
might place him in a false light. Without sufficient 
reflection he had made everything look too permanent. 
He very much objected to being looked upon as a per- 
manent bachelor, and he bitterly told himself that he 
ought to have thought of that before. He desired a 
reputation for energy and industry, but it must be 
that sort of energy and industry which belonged to 
the head of a family. 

However, if he had made a mistake he must do his 
best to correct it. On his first visit to Miss Claverden 
—and this was the day after she arrived— he made it 
very plain to her that his present place of residence 
and endeavor was nothing more than a training-school. 
Of course such a house as he had would not do at all 
for a lifelong home, such as he proposed to establish, 
but it very well answered his purpose while he was 
fitting himself for the management of an estate in this 
part of the country. 

“It’s a great deal better, you know,” said he, “to 
be well grounded in that sort of thing— vines, land, 
stock, and such like— before you go into it on a big 
scale, with a house with a lot of rooms in it, and all 
that. Isn’t it, now, Miss Claverden? ” 

“Oh, yes,” answered the lady. “I think your plan 
is a very good one. Many men, now rich, have begun 
life, and even brought up families, in houses no larger 
than yours.” 


444 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“By George!” said Prouter to himself, as he got 
into his dog-cart to drive away, “that’s a royal girl ! 
I really believe that if she out-and-out loved a man she 
would be willing to go with him and live in a house 
no bigger than mine ! And mine isn’t a bad house, 
either ! If I build on one side of it a drawing-room 
and a dining-room, and a library with a bay-window 
in it, and some good-sized bedrooms up-stairs, and per- 
haps a third story for boxes, servants, and that sort of 
thing, it would be no end of a good house. And then 
I should certainly plant the grove and the avenue of 
trees, even if they did shade a few vines. But don’t 
you hurry, Tom, my boy. Be careful about mistakes. 
1 Steady ’ is the word ! ” 

“Steady ” was truly the word most applicable to Tom 
Prouter’s visits to Bald Hill. Nearly every day found 
him there. There was never any lack of excuse for 
going, if excuse were needed. His interest in vine- 
growing urged him to frequent counsel with Major 
Claverden, who was always glad to talk with anybody 
upon this great subject. 

This year the old gentleman was a little despondent, 
for the wine of Bald Hill seemed slipping away into 
the very distant future. The vines which he had ex- 
pected to yield this year the much- desired juice were 
in a bad condition, and would probably have to be 
grubbed up, the fate which so many of his experi- 
mental vines had already met. Grubbing up was easy 
enough, but the time required for the new vines to 
reach their period of rich maturity discouraged the 
major. He had almost determined not to make any 
more plantings. 

Prouter was full of hope. He was eager to plant 
445 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


all sorts of things. It was his planting-time of life, 
and his cheery enthusiasm had a good effect upon the 
major, who was always glad to see him. 

After each of these conferences Prouter was sure to 
make a stop at the studio, or the house, or under some 
spreading tree on the lawn, or in whatever other place 
he might be able to find Miss Claverden. There his 
tongue would wag, his face flush, and his eyes sparkle 
for as long a time as he deemed proper for a man who 
had declared “steady 77 to be the word. He did not 
wish the lady to think he was an idle fellow with 
plenty of time on his hands,— such men were not well 
thought of in that community,— and he seldom took 
leave without making some reference to the necessity 
of hurrying home to attend to his affairs. 

One morning Mr. Prouter, on inquiring for Miss 
Claverden, was informed by a servant that she was in 
the library. He proceeded toward this familiar room, 
but before he reached the door he discovered— what 
the maid had not told him— that the lady was not 
alone. 

Prouter instinctively stopped. He did not wish to 
intrude upon Miss Claverden, but he also greatly ob- 
jected to going away without seeing her. He was not 
a man who listened by partly opened doors, but still, 
if the person inside should be Dr. Lester or any other 
intimate friend of the family, he would not hesitate 
to go into the room. It was a gentleman 7 s voice he 
heard, but he did not recognize it, and he was on the 
point of turning away when his attention was arrested 
by the high tones of Miss Claverden 7 s reply : 

“Mr. Dalrymple , 77 she said, “I told you never again 
to mention this subject to me. Since you pay no re- 
446 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


gard whatever to my wishes, I am forced to ask you to 
leave me. And unless you come as a friend of the 
family, and without any intention of offering yourself 
to me, I desire that you shall not visit this house 
again.” 

In almost any other instance the impropriety of 
listening any longer would have been very plain to 
Tom Prouter, but at this moment he was too much 
agitated to consider propriety. There was a man in 
that room who was insulting Ardis Claverden ! He 
knew now who he was— an unspeakable ass. And she 
was ordering him out of the house. Perhaps she might 
need assistance ! 

How Mr. Dalrymple spoke. “Demand,” he said, 
speaking clearly and smoothly, “that I become a blond. 
Ask me to be of hoary age, corpulent— decrepit. I 
can be any of these as well as one who loves you not. 
Yours now, yours always. Words matter not, time 
changes me not. But, as you desire, I go now.” 

The stupendous effrontery of these remarks made 
the blood boil in the veins of Tom Prouter. His Eng- 
lish heart of oak swelled and throbbed within him, 
and every one of his vigorous muscles seemed to grow 
tense and hard. Should he bound into the room and 
dash that man to the floor ? Or should he spring upon 
him as he came out, rush him to the door, and hurl 
him over the railing of the porch ? 

But Miss Claverden now came out of the room, her 
face pale and her step quick, and behind her followed 
Egbert Dalrymple. Prouter sprang to her side. 

“Shall I ki— ” “Kill him,” he was going to say, but 
changed it to “kick him down the steps?” 

Ardis betrayed no surprise at Mr. Prouter’s words, 
447 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


nor at Iris apparent knowledge of the situation. She 
was agitated and angry. “Let him alone ! ” she said. 
“It is only Mr. Dalrymple ! He is going.” 

Prouter did not move, but his eyes flashed, his fists 
were clinched, and his sinewy form was all a-tingle for 
a spring. Egbert Dalrymple, as he walked deliberately 
out of the library and toward the hall door, glanced 
at the young Englishman with about as much fear and 
as much interest as if he had been a badly stuffed tiger 
in a furrier’s window. Beaching the door, he turned 
and bowed to Ardis, and then, drawing on his gloves 
as he went, he descended the steps and walked over 
the lawn. 

It was a beautiful day, and, impelled by his youth 
and vigor and his love for the scent of foliage and 
herbage, he had come afoot across the fields. As he 
walked, he stooped and picked a daisy. He looked at 
it a moment, raised it to his lips and kissed it, then he 
looked at it again. 

“The same daisy,” he murmured. After which he 
carefully put it into his buttonhole, and glancing 
downward at it, murmured : “The same daisy ! So ! 
Always the same ! Ever the same ! ” 

Then with easy and graceful tread he passed on 
over the soft grass and through the shaded pathways 
of the woods, inhaling with expanded chest the fra- 
grant air already touched with the warmth of coming 
summer. 

As soon as Dalrymple had gone, Ardis walked out 
on the broad piazza at the back of the house, Prouter 
accompanying her. 

“You must excuse me, Miss Claverden,” he said. 
“You may think I have been intruding, but they 
448 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


told me you were in the library, and when I reached 
the door I heard you speaking severely to that— thing, 
and I didn’t know but — ” 

“Oh, don’t mention him,” said Ardis, taking a seat. 
“He has gone, and there is an end of it ! Isn’t this 
a lovely day? If it hadn’t been necessary to send my 
mare to be shod I should have been off for a gallop 
over the fields.” 

“Oh, that needn’t stop you!” cried Prouter. 
“There’s my horse at the front in the dog-cart. I can 
have him out of the shafts and your saddle on him in 
no time. He has never been ridden by a lady, but I 
wager he will go finely. And if I may ride with you, 
any mount will do for me.” 

“Thank you,” said Ardis, with a smile, “but I think 
we will postpone the ride. And now sit down and tell 
me how you get on with your meals. Yesterday you 
said that you had to cook your breakfast yourself.” 

It was a delightful change, she thought, after the 
scene she had just passed through, to sit and talk to an 
absolutely unromantic young man who could converse 
without adoring and whose mind ran upon horses and 
vines instead of souls and futures. The excitement 
which her anger had caused had not yet died away, 
and it showed itself in the brightened vivacity of her 
words and manner. To Prouter it was heavenly to 
talk on any subject to this sparkling angel. 

“That is a fact,” he said. “I did have to cook my 
own breakfast. The woman who has been coming in 
to do that sort of thing was such a beastly cook that I 
vowed, when I was eating my dinner the night before, 
that as soon as I had finished I would drive her out of 
the house, and the moment I had swallowed the last 
449 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


mouthful I got up and did it. I have another one 
now, though I fancy she is going to turn out worse 
than the last. But I have heard of a negro man down 
in the other end of the county who has been in the 
navy. Now, if you can get hold of a fellow who has 
been in the navy, he can almost always cook. And he 
can. make himself useful to you in other ways, too. 
He can brush your trousers, black your boots, and do 
all that sort of thing.” 

“A perfect treasure such a man would be ! ” cried 
Ardis, laughing so heartily that Prouter joined in 
without in the least seeing any cause for hilarity. 

“But I don’t want you to think, Miss Claverden,” 
he cried, “that I am intending always to get on in this 
slipshod fashion. I am making plans in my mind for 
a regular corps of servants, and I don’t know but I 
shall import them from England. They are thoroughly 
trained over there, you know— butlers, cooks, house- 
maids, footmen, even down to the stable-boys. Every 
rascal of them knows what he has to do, and goes and 
does it.” 

“But what use could you have for such a household, 
Mr. Prouter?” exclaimed Ardis. “You would be 
obliged to get lodgings for them in the neighborhood : 
your house would not hold them.” 

“Bless my soul, Miss Claverden ! ” said Prouter. 
“Don’t you know I shall not always live in a little 
house like that? I am making plans now to add to it 
—to build up a regular mansion.” 

“Your servants will need a very good-sized house,” 
said Ardis. “And shall you continue to live in the 
little part of it?” 

And thus the talk went merrily and earnestly on 
450 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


until Prouter declared that he should have been off 
long ago, and tore himself away. He went home, 
skipping over the grass, and forgetting that he had 
come in a dog-cart. As he approached his vineyard 
the laborer on watch aroused the two others, who were 
comfortably napping in the sun, and the three went 
vigorously to work. 

“Boys,” cried Prouter, striding radiantly into their 
midst, “this is a glorious day, and I am going to give 
you a half-holiday ! and here is fifty cents apiece for 
you. But hold up ! Before you go, one of you must 
run over to Bald Hill and get my horse and dog- 
cart. I didn’t come back by the road.” 

“Reckon he done sell dat little farm o’ hisn,” said 
one laborer to the other, as they gayly walked home- 
ward. “Don’t reckon dar’s anything in dis whole 
worl’ dat make him so pow’ful tickled as to sell his 
place.” 

“Ef he’s done gone an’ sol’ it,” said the other, “I 
reckon we-all kin wuck at de nex’ thing he buys, jes’ 
de same ! ” 

“Dat’s so, shuh ! ” was the reply. 

These men had been assistants in the milk business. 


451 


CHAPTER XLI 

In these early summer days this world was a very 
happy world to Tom Prouter. It had always presented 
to him a gladsome aspect, though sometimes flecked 
with spasmodic streaks of business or social perplexi- 
ties, but now it glowed beneath him as though he 
walked upon the upper surface of a sun-gilded cloud. 

He continued to make frequent visits to Bald Hill, 
but he was very wary and prudent about them. 
“ Steady” was still the word. He thought he had 
been indiscreet in making mention of the house he 
intended to build and of the servants he would employ. 
The knowledge of that sort of thing ought to dawn 
upon a person gradually. If it were plumped down 
too suddenly it would appear to have a design in it. 

Now, Prouter did not wish that Miss Claverden 
should imagine that he had any designs upon her. 
He had never been so cautious in his life. The 
present strongest desire of his nature was to make a 
good impression upon the lady of Bald Hill. He en- 
deavored to banish from his manner and deportment 
all signs of frivolity and fitfulness, and, consequently, 
he sometimes became a little dull ; but as he never 
perceived this, the world glowed no less brightly be- 
neath him. 


452 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


In order that the neighborhood might not come to 
too hasty conclusions in regard to the constant inter- 
course which he kept up with Bald Hill, he also made 
visits to others of his friends, but these never inter- 
fered with the regularity of his dropping in on the 
major and his daughter. 

Sometimes he visited his old friends and country- 
men, the Quantrills, and had some lively talks with 
Miss Airpenny, with whom he felt under no manner 
of restraint, and could be as frivolous and fitful as he 
pleased. Occasionally he stopped and had a smoke 
and chat with Dr. Lester, and, much to the amusement 
of the Cranton family, paid some long visits to Miss 
Norma. 

Next to Bald Hill he liked best to visit the Dun- 
worth farm, but it was more on account of the pleasure 
he received from the society of Messrs. Parchester, 
Skitt, and Cruppledean than from that of the master 
of the house. He could not help feeling a very great 
pity for Roger Dun worth, and as he well knew that it 
would not do to exhibit any sentiment of this sort, his 
efforts at repression resulted in a certain stiffness which 
was very unpleasant to himself, whatever it might be 
to any one else. 

He was very glad to be able to assure himself that 
until he had become certain that the engagement 
between Miss Claverden and Dunworth was positively 
broken off, he had never thought of such a thing as 
going in on his own account. This approval of his 
conscience helped to make the world a bright one to 
Tom Prouter, and even the shadows caused by his pity 
for Dunworth were not very dense, nor altogether 
unpleasant. 


453 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


On a certain bright morning Mr. Pronter sat by the 
side of Miss Claverden on the front piazza of Bald Hill. 
She was busily engaged upon some light sewing, and 
he had taken a seat for a few minutes to rest himself. 
As Tom Prouter had never before been heard to say 
that he was tired, it was indeed well that there hap- 
pened to be a chair there, in order that this primal 
experience of fatigue might be relieved. 

It was not very long before Ardis was called into 
the house and begged her visitor to excuse her. As 
she left her work and sewing materials on the chair, 
Prouter felt sure that she would soon be back again, 
and, thrusting his hands into his pockets, leaning back, 
and extending his legs, he gave himself up to the joy 
of existence. The gently rustling trees, the rose- 
scented air, the golden sunlight, the stretches of smooth 
green, the blue sky, the softly sailing clouds, and the 
momentarily expected return of Ardis made him feel 
as if he were indeed in Paradise. 

Suddenly he sprang to his feet. His eyes glared, 
the color left his face, and he exclaimed : “The devil ! ” 

Yes, the devil had entered into Paradise. On the 
highroad, plainly visible from where he stood, in a 
buggy slowly driven by a boy, he saw Jack Surrey. 

With mouth open and eyes dilated, Prouter stood 
and watched, and waited, and watched. Gradually 
the buggy approached the Bald Hill gate. It reached 
it. It did not stop, but passed on. 

Prouter gave a little gasp, but before he could assure 
himself that he felt relieved he heard Ardis returning. 

“What is the matter with you, Mr. Prouter?” she 
exclaimed as she came out on the porch. “You look 
as if you had seen a ghost, or perhaps snakes.” 

454 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


The young man was now glaring steadfastly in an 
opposite direction from the road, and, as he expected, 
Ardis’s gaze followed his. He continued to glare. “She 
must not look around,” he thought, “until that buggy 
has passed entirely out of sight.” 

“What in the world is it?” asked Ardis, now be- 
coming a little alarmed. 

“Oh, it’s nothing, nothing,” said Prouter, quickly. 
“I am subject to this sort of thing— that is to say, I 
never had any experience of this kind before— but 
people will have certain jumps and agitations without 
any reason whatever.” 

“I am glad to hear that,” said Ardis. “But won't 
you have a glass of wine ? ” 

“Ho, no, no, thank you very much,” said Prouter, 
hurriedly. “I must be off now. I've got lots of 
things to do at home. I ought to have been there 
long ago.” 

And, taking a hasty leave, he departed. He must 
hurry away, and see where that incarnate fiend had 
gone to. 

“I hope the poor young man is not in money diffi- 
culties and saw the sheriff upon the road,” thought 
Ardis, as she resumed her seat. “How that I think of 
it, he was looking so desperately the other way that 
he must have seen something on the road.” 

This morning Mr. Prouter had come to Bald Hill on 
foot, and as soon as he thought himself out of sight of 
the front piazza, he began to run across the lawn and 
through the orchard, making a diagonal course toward 
the road in order that he might catch sight of the 
buggy and the fiend, and see where they were going. 

“It may be,” he thought, as he ran, “that he intends 
455 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


to drive to Richmond on this road. It would be like 
him to do that, and if that is the case, the faster he 
goes the better ! ” 

Reaching the road, Prouter vaulted over the fence, 
hurried onward, and soon rounding a little curve, he 
beheld the buggy about half a mile ahead of him. He 
was now on high ground whence he could see the road, 
or portions of it, for a long distance, and he was satisfied 
that he could determine whether or not Surrey was 
going to Richmond. If he turned to the right at Dr. 
Southey’s he was certainly on his way to that city, 
which was only fifty or sixty miles distant. 

But Surrey did not take the road to Richmond. 
Long before he reached Dr. Southey’s house he turned 
to the left, and drove through a gate at the roadside. 

“By the Lord Harry !” cried Prouter, with such a 
start that he almost sprang from the ground. “He is 
going to my house ! ” 

Tom Prouter now ran home at the top of his speed, 
vengeance in his eye, and destruction in his two 
clenched fists. The buggy had a long start of him, 
however, and reached the little house some minutes 
before his arrival. Hurrying, hot, red, and savage, 
along the rough lane which was to become a stately 
avenue, Prouter beheld Surrey, cool and smiling, 
standing in the open doorway of his house. The 
buggy had been driven away to the back, and on the 
porch lay two large valises. 

A few steps from the house, Prouter stopped short. 
“What is the meaning of this ? ” he cried. “What are 
you doing here ? ” 

“Doing? ” said Surrey, a slight smile showing under 
his heavy mustache. “I have come to make you a 
456 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

visit. Didn’t you ask me to do so the last time you 
saw me ? ” 

Prouter swallowed an objuration so big that it 
almost choked him. “Ask yon? ” he gasped. 

“Certainly,” said Surrey, “yon invited me. I ac- 
cepted, and here I am. But come in. I don’t like to 
see you standing outside there.” 

So saying, Surrey walked back into the room, and 
Prouter, still boiling, accepted the invitation to enter 
his own house. Surrey took off his hat, seated himself 
in an arm-chair near a small table, and looked about 
him. 

“Neat and comfortable,” he remarked. “I should 
say this sort of thing would suit you exactly.” 

“It doesn’t suit me,” said Prouter, still standing, 
and with his hat on. “The house is a makeshift, and 
doesn’t suit at all. And what is more—” 

“Now don’t proceed to say,” interrupted Surrey, 
“that it doesn’t suit you to have me here, because 
that would be going back on yourself, which is a thing 
I don’t expect of you.” 

Prouter breathed a deep, long, rasping breath. 
“What beastly business brought you here, anyway?” 
he cried. 

“The beastly business of visiting you,” said Surrey ; 
“I told you that before. And now, have you any kind 
of thing a man can drink ? I am thirsty.” 

Prouter glared at him for a moment, and then strode 
to a closet, bringing out a bottle of beer and a tumbler, 
which he banged down on the table by Surrey. The 
latter pushed back the fastening of the patent cork, 
poured out a glass of beer, and drank it with great 
relish. Then, having emptied the remaining con- 
457 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


tents of the bottle into the tumbler, he took a cigar 
from his pocket, lighted it, and leaned back in his 
chair. 

“Now this is what I call enjoyable,” he said, “make- 
shift or not.” 

With heaving breath, red face, and dilated nostrils, 
Prouter stood and stared at him for a few moments. 

“Now look here,” he presently exclaimed, “this sort 
of thing will not work ! Yon have done mischief 
enough in these parts ! If you had a spark of manli- 
ness in yon, you wouldn’t stay where yon are hated by 
everybody, from the cradle to the grave.” 

Surrey smiled, and Prouter went on: “You are 
always doing the most devilish things just at the time 
they ought not to be done.” 

“I shall be glad to hear,” said Surrey, “at what 
times you think it proper to do devilish things. But 
we will discuss that later.” 

“You can’t deny it,” said Prouter. “You come in 
when everything is happiest, and make a hell upon 
earth ! Here everything is beginning to go straight 
again—” 

“Do you mean,” interrupted Surrey, “that Miss 
Claverden and Dnnworth are engaged again 1 ” 

“No, I don’t ! ” cried Prouter. “That’s all smashed, 
ruined, done with, and scattered to the winds. There 
is no possibility of their ever coming together again. 
You have totally dashed all that into dust and 
flinders ! They are no more to each other than if they 
had never met.” 

“Then what do you mean by things going straight? ” 
asked Surrey. 

“That is none of your business!” cried Prouter. 

458 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


U I should hate to he a man always prying into things 
with which he has no concern.” 

Surrey looked steadily at Prouter for a moment, and 
then he asked : “Are you courting Miss Claverden?” 

“No, I am not!” roared Prouter. “You might as 
well expect a man to court a woman at her husband’s 
funeral ! You needn’t suppose everybody has your 
heathenish ideas about doing things. What I do, or 
intend to do, or don’t intend to do, are my own affairs, 
and I answer no man in regard to them.” And, with 
this remark, he stamped angrily up and down the 
floor. 

Surrey took his cigar from his mouth, and drank 
the glass of beer he had poured out. Then he leaned 
forward, with his elbow on the table, and addressed 
the young Englishman. “Now, Prouter,” he said, 
“don’t work yourself into a passion. I see exactly 
how the ground lies, and I may as well tell you at 
once that if any plan you have made shall fail, you 
will have no cause to lay the blame on me. So you 
need give yourself no further trouble about that.” 

“What do you mean? ” said Prouter. “What have 
you got to do with my plans ? ” 

“From the way you have been talking,” answered 
Surrey, “one might suppose I had a good deal to do 
with them. But, in reality, I have nothing. I did not 
come down here to pay attentions to Miss Claverden. 
In fact, I do not expect to see her.” 

“Then what did you come here for ? ” asked Prouter. 

“I like the country, and I came to see you. Don’t 
you call those reasons enough ? ” 

Prouter stood silent for a moment. Then he walked 
to the closet and took out another bottle of beer, which 
459 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


he put down before Surrey. After which he thrust 
his hands into his pockets and looked out through the 
open doorway. 

“It is not a bad country,” he said. 

Surrey opened the bottle, and poured out a small 
portion of the beer, and then Prouter returned to the 
closet and got out another glass, which he filled for 
himself, and drank. He now opened the back door 
and looked into the kitchen. 

“I drove off my new cook this morning,” he re- 
marked. “She was the worst one I have had yet. 
But another woman promised to come by noon, and if 
she doesn’t show up soon I’ll take my gun and go 
after her.” 

“You are a jolly housekeeper,” said Surrey. 

“I am not half a bad one,” answered his host. “I 
am going to hire a sailor as soon as I can get down to 
the lower end of the county.” 

“A queer place to find sailors ! ” said Surrey. “And 
what you want with one I do not know. But we 
won’t discuss that at present. I am not troubled 
about the cooking. If there is no one else to do it, I 
can do it myself. I have camped out enough to know 
all about that. You have two bedrooms in this house, 
haven’t you ? ” 

“Of course I have,” answered Prouter. 

“Well, then, suppose you show me to the one that is 
to be mine.” And so saying, he stepped out on the 
porch where his baggage had been left. 

Prouter took up one of the valises, and led the way 
up-stairs, followed by his guest carrying the other bag. 


460 


CHAPTER XLII 


Jack Surrey had very good grounds for not telling 
Prouter his object in coming down there, for he could 
not have given to himself a definite reason for this 
action. Since he had left Atlanta he had been an aim- 
less and a somewhat dissatisfied wanderer, and after 
having given a good deal of desultory thought to the 
subject, the conviction had been forced upon him that 
no place suited him so well as the neighborhood of 
Bolton, and he, therefore, determined to go and make 
a visit to that amusing young fellow, Tom Prouter. 

Having come to this conclusion, he seriously assured 
himself that he was not going down into that region 
on account of Ardis Claverden. His case had been 
very definitely settled by that young lady, although, 
to be sure, circumstances had changed since then, and 
he did not know whether they had rearranged them- 
selves or not. But he strongly opined that at present 
the sight of him would be distasteful to Miss Claver- 
den, and that, therefore, he would keep out of her way, 
at least until he had seen how things were going. 
Under these circumstances most men would have 
stayed away altogether. But Jack Surrey was not at 
all like most men. 

It was pleasant to him to think that he was in the 
461 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


same rural neighborhood with Miss Claverden, and 
that they breathed the same general air. But, on the 
other hand, his freedom of movement was very much 
interfered with by his determination to keep out of 
her way. On public roads, and in a town like Bolton, 
people must, of course, take their chances of meeting, 
but by all reasonable methods he would let it be seen 
that he had no intention of intruding upon her. 

This resolution, however, did not interfere with his 
having a very good time. He took long rambles into 
the woods and mountains, sometimes with his host, 
and sometimes without him. Prouter frequently 
drove him in his dog-cart into town, and very often 
Surrey borrowed the horse and cart and drove himself 
where he pleased. He had made acquaintances in the 
town, and with these he sometimes stopped for a chat, 
and, after a time, he even called upon some people he 
had known in the Bald Hill neighborhood. 

His success in this respect, however, was not great. 
When Dr. Lester beheld him approaching his house, 
that worthy gentleman was filled with such feelings of 
abhorrence that he opened a back window, and, leaping 
out through it, made for the woods. He had heard 
that this bearer of evil and of misery, this pestilential 
and shameless man, was staying at Prouter’s, but he 
did not believe that he would have the black-hearted 
effrontery to call upon him. Surrey found an empty 
house, and went away. 

“It would seem,” thought the doctor, as he sat on 
the ground in the heart of the forest, his pipe in his 
mouth and his back against a tree, “as if the wretch 
could do no further evil now, but I am not sure, I am 
not sure. Anyway, the sight of him is evil to me.” 

462 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


The next visit paid by Surrey was to Heatherley, 
where he called upon Miss Norma Cranton. When 
this young lady received the card of the visitor, who 
had been shown into the parlor, her face flushed, she 
stamped her foot upon the floor, and declared that 
she would not go one inch down to see him. Such 
unparalleled impudence she had never heard of ! For 
him to call upon her ! What on earth could be the 
object of his coming 1 ? 

She stopped the servant, who was on the point of 
going down-stairs to tell the gentleman that her mis- 
tress could not see him, and stood reflecting. Her 
anger at what she considered the insult of the call did 
not abate, but it was now mingled with an uncon- 
trollable desire to know what the man could have to 
say to her. She had heard he was in the neighborhood, 
but she had not imagined it possible that he would 
come to Heatherley to call upon her. However, she 
must know what he wanted, and down-stairs she went. 

Norma’s reception of Mr. Surrey was decidedly 
freezing— the temperature of her manner might have 
been placed at about fifteen degrees above zero. She 
did not even offer him her hand, but, after a slight 
inclination of the head as she entered the room, she sat 
down near the door, holding herself very erect and 
not touching the back of the chair. 

Surrey resumed his seat, which was on the other side 
of the large room. “I hope, Miss Cranton,” he said, 
“that you have been well since I last saw you.” 

“Yes,” she said, somewhat severely. “Have you 
any business with me ? ” 

“Yes, Miss Cranton,” Surrey replied. “I have called 
to see you upon business, and I come to you because 
463 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


I believe you to be a lady who, no matter what you 
may think of me and my affairs, will speak to me 
fairly and squarely. I wish to make some very clear 
and plain statements to you, and I know no one in 
these parts who is so likely to give plain and clear 
opinions regarding my statements . 77 

u Indeed ! 77 remarked Miss Cranton. 

The assurance of almost any presumptuous man 
would have been congealed by the coldness of her 
tone, but Surrey had prepared himself for chilliness, 
and this had no apparent effect upon him. He pro- 
ceeded : 

“I know very well, for I have been told often 
enough, that certain misunderstandings which have 
occurred among your friends hereabout have been 
ascribed to my influence. And in speaking of these 
things I do not wish to beat the bush, or to hint. I 
desire to speak clearly and plainly, as I said before, 
and to call things and people by their right names. 
Those who look upon me as an emissary of mischief— 
and that there are persons who look upon me in this 
way I have frequently been informed— are entirely in 
the wrong. It is no more than justice that I should 
be allowed to make a straightforward declaration of 
what I have intended to do, and what I have done. 
You may think just as badly of me after I have fin- 
ished speaking as you do now, but still, honor and 
justice demand that I shall be allowed to speak . 77 

Norma looked steadily at him, but made no answer. 
She was perfectly willing that honor and justice should 
have their way, and more than willing to hear what 
was about to be disclosed. 

a I came to Bolton and to Bald Hill , 77 continued 
464 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Surrey, “to see Miss Claverden. I desired to marry 
her. You perceive I have no concealments. For a 
time I got on very well, and I had no reason to sup- 
pose I had not as good a chance as any other man. 
But I discovered that there was another man who had 
a better chance than myself, although I did not know 
him as a preferred suitor of Miss Claverden until he 
suddenly flared up, got jealous, and made a row.” 

“He had a right to be jealous,” said Norma. 

“Of course he had,” answered Surrey, “a perfect 
right. But then, I am not to blame because he chose 
to show his jealousy as he did. There are better ways 
of showing that passion, which I would have advised 
had I been consulted. When I found how matters 
stood, I went away and left the field clear. I don’t 
pretend to say that I went away willingly, or that I 
was in any hurry to go. I was as much in earnest as 
anybody concerned in the affair. If there were any 
chance left for me, I wanted to stay and see what it 
was.” 

“If you had kept away from her when you did leave, 
Mr. Surrey,” said Norma, “all might have been well, 
but it was perfectly wicked of you to go down after 
her to Georgia ! ” 

“I differ with you, Miss Cranton,” said Surrey. “I 
had reason to believe that Miss Claverden was at 
Atlanta, and I went down there on purpose to see 
her. If she ever had been engaged to Dunworth 
the engagement had then been broken off for some 
time. I did not know in what way her feelings might 
have changed, and I determined to go and find out. 
I maintain that I had a perfect right to go and 
find out.” 


465 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“But yon had no right to make all the trouble you 
did make,” said Norma, “and totally ruin the happi- 
ness of two lives.” 

“I had nothing to do with all that,” said Surrey. 
“That trouble was arranged entirely by Miss Claver- 
den and Dunworth. One got angry at my being there, 
and challenged me to fight a duel $ the other discarded 
her lover because he fought a duel. That was all there 
was of it. I went there with no intention of making 
trouble, and, indeed, I did everything a man could do 
to avoid making trouble. I accepted the challenge, 
of course, because I am no coward, and will give no 
man the opportunity to look upon me as such. But I 
made up my mind that I would not wound a woman, 
especially a woman whom I had loved and would be 
glad to love again. If I killed Dunworth I should 
inflict a terrible grief upon Miss Claverden. I, there- 
fore, resolved to fire in the air, and I did fire in the air. 
Could more than that be expected of a man ? ” 

“No,” said Norma, her eyes turned upward toward 
the portrait of a male ancestor which hung upon the 
wall. “A brave man could do no more nor less than 
what you did after you were challenged. But the 
trouble came from what you did before that.” 

“But I still maintain,” said Surrey, “that I ought 
not to be held accountable for it. I assert that what 
I did was straightforward and aboveboard. If I found 
things as I hoped they might be, so much the better 
for me. If I found them not so, so much the worse. 
In either case, I should have accepted my fate, and 
there would have been an end of it.” 

“If you had spoken in this way before, Mr. Surrey,” 
466 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

said Norma, “it would have been much better for 
everybody.” 

“I never had a chance to speak,” he answered. “I 
am always willing enough to talk, and to put myself 
on record in the largest kind of letters. But down here 
nobody has taken the trouble to consult me in the 
least. My good friends have simply come to their 
own conclusions, and settled matters in their own 
way.” 

“We have a perfect right to do that, Mr. Surrey,” 
said Norma, “but of course it might have been better 
if things had been really discussed.” 

“Well, we will not speak any more of that, Miss 
Cranton,” said Surrey. “Fault enough has been found 
with me, I think you will admit. But I have not the 
least disposition to strike back. I came down here 
this time because I like the country and I like the 
people. Because I lost what I came for on my first 
visit is no reason why I should give up everything 
else. I had an idea of settling in this region, and I do 
not know why I should banish that idea now. I 
should like ever so much to have an orchard and a 
vineyard, and all that sort of thing. I envy the inde- 
pendent life that young Prouter leads.” 

“Then, I suppose, you would have your son with 
you,” said Norma, whose mind, in this planning for 
the future, had far outrun that of the speaker. 

A slight look of surprise appeared on Surrey’s face, 
and then he smiled. “Yes,” he said, “when he is old 
enough he would come down to visit me, of course. 
But just now he is only six, and his mother’s family 
have charge of him. They guard him as if he were a 
467 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


perishable diamond. I expect I shall be delighted to 
have him live with me, but I must wait until he is a 
great deal older before that can be arranged. At 
present I am entirely alone. As I said before, I should 
like to make a home in this neighborhood. But I 
think you will agree with me that it would be pretty 
hard for me to come and settle down here among a lot 
of enemies .’ 7 

“Of course it would,” promptly replied Norma. 

“Now, I want to be friendly with all of you. There 
is not a man or woman in this county toward whom 
I feel the least enmity. I should like to go to Dun- 
worth, and take him by the hand, and tell him that, 
so far as I am concerned, the past is all forgotten, and 
ask him to forget it. And then, there is Dr. Lester. 
He is a jolly, good old fellow, but I don’t believe he 
would shake hands with me. As for Major Claverden, 
he is the finest specimen of an old Virginia gentleman 
I ever saw, and I want to be on good terms with 
him.” 

“Oh, Mr. Surrey,” said Norma, “I think you are per- 
fectly right in wanting to make friends with the 
people who may become your neighbors, but I beg of 
you not to go to see Mr. Dunworth, and not to go to 
Bald Hill— at least, for the present. Perhaps after 
a while it won’t matter, but do not go now.” 

During this protracted conversation the temperature 
of Norma’s demeanor had been gradually rising, and 
now it was, at least, at sixty degrees— temperate cer- 
tainly, with a suspicion of warmth in it. Surrey had 
noticed this change, but he had not taken the slightest 
advantage of it. He had not seated himself nearer to 
her, nor did his voice or manner betray any recogni- 
468 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


tion of a thaw in her bearing toward him. He had 
too much tact to do anything which might alarm her, 
or make her think she was speaking too freely to a 
man whom she had always detested. 

“I do not see, Miss Cranton,” he answered, “that I 
could do any harm by going to either of those houses. 
But, as I told yon, I came here, not only to speak 
clearly and plainly, but to listen to what yon might 
clearly and plainly say to me. I felt sure that you 
would speak in that way, and since you feel so strongly 
about it, I am perfectly willing to defer to you, and I 
promise you I will not go to Bald Hill, nor to the 
Dun worth farm, until I am quite sure no further com- 
plications will ensue. In fact, I am willing to put the 
matter into your hands. When you say I may go, I 
will go.” 

And so saying, he arose, and Norma left her chair 
and involuntarily made two or three steps toward him. 
“Mr. Surrey,” she said, “you must not do that ! I 
cannot take on myself such a responsibility ! In fact, 
I really have nothing to do with the matter, and I only 
speak on account of my friendly feeling toward— 
toward— everybody.” 

“I am sure of that,” said Surrey, making a leisurely 
step or two in her direction. 

“And as to your making friends in this neighbor- 
hood,” said Norma, “I am willing to do everything I 
can to help you, and I am sure Mr. Prouter will in- 
troduce you to all the English families about here j 
and there are the Dalrymples, whom perhaps you know 
already ; and, in fact, there is a good deal of society 
here, though, of course, somewhat scattered.” 

“You are very good,” said Surrey, “and I must 
469 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


thank you, Miss Cranton, for the straightforward and 
satisfactory manner in which you have talked with me. 
And now I will hid yon good afternoon.” 

He extended his hand to her with an air as if it were 
the most natural thing in the world for him to do so, 
and Norma took it as if it were the most natural thing 
in the world for her to do so. And as he left, she fol- 
lowed him out on the porch. 

“Mr. Surrey,” she said, “I feel as if I ought to thank 
you for the promise you made, and I do hope that 
you will not see any reason for changing your mind.” 

“Ho fear of that,” said Surrey. “With me a prom- 
ise is a promise. And though you do not insist upon 
it, I intend to confer with you before I visit either the 
Claverdens or Dunworth. Is not that Mr. Cranton ? ” 

“Yes,” said Horma, “it is my father.” 

Mr. Cranton was a small man, plain in appearance, 
and retiring in disposition. He attended closely to 
the business of his farm, avoided company, and to 
casual visitors at Heatherley was almost unknown. 
But he was a man of education and reading, and those 
who were so fortunate as to know him well enough to 
spend an evening with him found him an agreeable 
and profitable talker. 

“I should like very much to know Mr. Cranton,” 
said Surrey. “Will you present me!” 

“Certainly,” said Horma. And as her father came 
nearer, his eyes bent on the ground, she called to him. 
“Father,” she said, “this is Mr. Surrey. I want to 
make you acquainted with him.” 

Mr. Cranton looked up, put down a wooden rake 
which he was bringing to the house to mend, and 
approached the steps. But before he reached them, 
470 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

Surrey ran quickly down and shook hands with him. 
After expressing his pleasure at making the acquaint- 
ance, and declining an invitation to stay to dinner, 
which came as naturally to Mr. Cranton as would a 
remark about the weather, Surrey raised his hat to 
Norma and departed. 


471 


CHAPTER XLIII 

On the afternoon when Jack Surrey walked from 
Prouter’s house to Heatherley, Dr. Lester, through his 
open window, saw him pass along the road. The 
doctor was a man of kindly temper and of gentle 
manner, but as his eyes fell upon Surrey, he struck 
his fist upon the table by which he was sitting, and 
exclaimed : “Perdition take him ! ” 

The doctor’s mind was discomposed, and he could 
not go on with his work. He was copying and restor- 
ing for Major Claverden a dilapidated map of the Bald 
Hill estate, but thoughts of Surrey would not coincide 
with precise lines and careful measurements. 

“I wonder,” said the doctor to himself, as he walked 
up and down the room, “if she knows he is here. She 
should be put upon her guard. Not that there is 
actual danger to her, but her eyes should not be per- 
mitted to fall upon him. It might be well for her to 
go away for a time. At any rate, she should know 
that he is here— most certainly she should know.” 

After a little more striding about the room, the 
doctor put away his drawing materials, took up his 
hat and his grape-vine walking-stick, and set out for 
Bald Hill. 

When he arrived there he was told that Miss Ardis 
472 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


was in her studio. The doctor was sorry to hear this. 
He did not like the studio. When he saw Ardis there 
she generally wore a long apron covered with dabs of 
various-colored paints. He did not think the most 
perfect beauty in the whole world should appear in 
an attire like this, nor did it coincide with his ideas of 
propriety that a lady of her station and family, a lady 
who, in appearance, breeding, and blood, was worthy 
to consort with the noblest in rank and to wed with 
royalty, should ever be seen in apparel the least un- 
kempt, and working with more or less grimy oils and 
paints. He had the highest possible opinion of her 
pictures, but he did not like to see her paint. 

In spite of this dislike, and it would have been a 
very strong dislike for surroundings and occupation 
which would have kept him away from Ardis, the 
doctor walked down to the old stone building which 
served for a studio. The doors and the windows were 
all open, and before he reached the house the doctor 
saw Ardis, and he was surprised and delighted to per- 
ceive that she was not attired in the unpleasing garb 
of an artist, and that, apparently, she was not painting. 
She was seated near the large north window at the 
end of the room, and as the doctor knocked on the 
frame of the open side door before entering, she looked 
up and gave a little start. 

It was very unusual for Ardis to start at the entrance 
of any one, but when she saw Dr. Lester at the door, 
she was the least bit in the world embarrassed, and 
a good deal amused. She was engaged in embroidering 
some velvet which was to be made into a pair of slip- 
pers, and these were to be given to Dr. Lester on his 
birthday, which would occur in a few weeks. Not 
473 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


wishing him to see this present until it was finished, 
and knowing that he would not be very likely to drop 
in upon her at the studio, she had gone there. 

This early summer afternoon was warm, and Ardis 
was dressed in white, which, according to the doctor’s 
opinion, displayed her beauty to perfection. She wore 
a pink girdle, and some pink roses at her bosom, and 
in her face, as her visitor entered, there was a little 
more of pink than was usual with her. 

But Ardis almost instantly recovered from her slight 
surprise, and the feeling of amusement at the speedy 
overthrow of her little scheme only served to give 
additional brightness to her reception of the doctor. 
His eyes sparkled with delight. They could do noth- 
ing for him which could make him more truly thank- 
ful that he owned them than to show him Ardis thus. 

When he had seated himself, Ardis turned the velvet 
toward him and asked him how he liked the floral 
decorations which had begun to appear upon it. The 
doctor had not the least idea of the ultimate object of 
this piece of work, but he thought the embroidery 
beautiful. He liked to see Ardis doing such things as 
this. How charming her white and delicately formed 
hand appeared against the glossy surface of the velvet ! 

The studio seemed a new place to the doctor that 
day. He sat with his back to the easels, the paints, 
the brushes, the canvases standing with their faces to 
the wall, and all that artistic disorder which so jarred 
upon his sense of what was fitting for Ardis. Before 
him was the loveliest woman in the world, relieved by 
a background of green leaves, sunlight, vines, and the 
softened hues of distant foliage. It seemed to him a 
wrong and cruel thing to bring bad news into such a 
474 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Paradise, but he had come to perform what he believed 
to be a duty, aud he must not shrink from it. 

“Miss Ardis,” he said, “my object in calling upon 
you to-day is to inform you of something which may 
surprise and annoy you. Mr. Surrey is again in this 
neighborhood.” 

Ardis smiled. “You are always good, doctor,” she 
said, “and it is very good indeed of you to come to 
tell me that, but I knew it already. I have not seen 
him, but some of the servants mentioned that he was 
staying with Mr. Prouter.” 

“But what are you going to do about it?” asked 
the doctor, earnestly. “I am grieved and indignant 
that this man should have had the hardihood to show 
himself in this part of the country. I can hardly 
suppose that he possesses the effrontery to present 
himself at your house, but I do not know. He is 
capable of almost anything ! And in going about the 
country you are liable to encounter him at any time.” 

Ardis laid her work in her lap and turned her eyes 
upon the doctor. “Dr. Lester,” said she, “let us have 
a little quiet talk upon this subject. Mr. Surrey is 
nothing to me, and I do not intend that his appearance 
here shall disturb me in the least. I do not think it 
is very good taste in him to appear in this neighbor- 
hood, but I cannot discompose myself on account of 
his want of taste. I speak very plainly to you, doctor, 
because you are such a dear friend, and I want you 
to know that all the trouble I went through, and 
which you so bravely went through with me, is now a 
thing of the past. I am resolved that it shall be so. 
As to Mr. Surrey, he is, of course, free to visit or to go 
where he pleases. He can come to this county, or go 
475 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

to another. I have nothing to do with it. If I meet 
him, I shall acknowledge that I know him— that is all. 
I have no fear that he will endeavor to renew his 
former acquaintance with either me or my father. 
His not coming here proves that. But if he should 
so endeavor, I can readily make him understand that 
he is nothing more than one of many men whom I 
merely know. 

“And while I am talking to you in this way, doctor, 
I want to impress upon you that all in which Mr. 
Surrey could make trouble, has disappeared. I have 
thought a great deal about you, doctor, in connection 
with this matter, and I hope most earnestly that you 
do not think me inconstant or changeable.” 

“Indeed, I do not ! ” replied the doctor, the words 
coming from his very heart of hearts. 

Ardis thrust into the velvet the embroidery needle, 
which she had been holding, and extended her hand 
to the doctor. “That is right!” she said. “I can 
always trust to you.” 

The doctor took her hand and held it for some sec- 
onds. A wild desire seized him to drop upon his 
knees and kiss it. Why not f He had kissed that girl 
a thousand times when she was a child. And, more 
than that, she herself, since she had been grown up, 
not very long ago— but here his thoughts stopped. 
A sudden coldness came over him. He had remem- 
bered too much. Yery gently and respectfully, he 
released her hand. 

She continued : “What I have done was done be- 
cause perfect trust and loyalty is absolutely necessary 
to me. I trust and am truly loyal, and I demand the 
same. It was not easy for me to bring myself to this 
way of thinking. I went through a terrible trial. But 
476 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


I determined to do my duty to myself and to — to 
Roger Dun worth. I would not ruin the happiness of 
my life, nor the happiness of his life. And now we 
come round again to our text, which is that Mr. Surrey 
is not of the slightest importance.” 

She took up her work and recommenced her em- 
broidery. 

“I am glad to hear that,” said the doctor. “I 
merely dreaded to have him near you, that is all.” 

“ Doctor,” said Ardis, looking out of the great win- 
dow at the leaves and the vines and the sunlight, “I 
wish there were more like you ! Then we could trust, 
and be trusted, and this world would be a sensible 
one, and a happy one.*’ 

The doctor murmured something in reply, and 
looked upon the floor. W as this last stroke necessary ? 

Not long after this the doctor left. Walking medi- 
tatively homeward, he saw, on the other side of the 
road, Mr. Surrey, coming jauntily down from Heather- 
ley. The doctor’s first impulse was to turn his head 
the other way and increase his pace, but he instantly 
remembered that this was what he ought not to do. He 
now knew that Ardis meant to treat the man politely 
and as a person of no importance, and that he would 
please her by also treating him politely, and, therefore, 
when he was nearly opposite Surrey, he bowed. 

The latter immediately stopped, but did not cross 
the road. He intended to be very wary and prudent 
in such matters. “Good day, doctor!” he cried 
cheerily. “I am glad to see you looking so well.” 

“Thank you,” said the doctor, and passed on. He 
felt degraded, but he would have done the same thing 
again. 

As he walked on a fresh trouble lay upon the 
477 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


soul of the doctor. Ardis had told him , just before 
he left her, that she intended spending the next two 
days at Rocklands, a country house about twenty 
miles distant. This announcement caused an uneasi- 
ness in the doctor. The son and heir of Rocklands 
was a dashing and handsome young fellow. Ardis 
would be two days with him. Certain possibilities, 
when connected with Ardis, always troubled the doctor 
when they first presented themselves to him. 

“How foolish it is ! ” he said to himself, as he struck 
his heavy cane on the ground. “What an ass ! what a 
dolt I am ! This young man is nothing, and if he 
were anything, what is that to me? Why should I 
ache about such things ? There is no reason, no sense, 
no propriety, no excuse for it ! It must be stopped ! ” 

But the ache continued all the same. 

The next day, in the pleasantest part of the after- 
noon, there came riding to Bald Hill, Mr. Egbert Dal- 
rymple. He wore a fresh summer suit, and in his 
buttonhole a flower, with a hue indicative of the ap- 
proaching maturity of the season. When he had dis- 
mounted and had come to the house, he was informed 
by the maid who came to the door that Miss Claverden 
was not at home. 

“So ! ” exclaimed Mr. Dalrymple, knitting his brows, 
and glancing darkly at his feet. Then, suddenly ele- 
vating his countenance, he asked : “Are you sure of 
that? Speak the truth, now ! ” 

The mind of the maid was somewhat fired by this 
remark. 

“Of course I’m shuah of it ! ” she said. “She went 
away right after breakfas’ this mornin’, and told me 
she wouldn’t be back for two days.” 

478 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“Where did she go? ” asked Mr. Dalrymple, folding 
his arms as he spoke. 

The woman had a notion, not altogether instinctive, 
that this was none of the young man’s business, and 
she answered : “She’s gone ever so far. She didn’t give 
me no address.” 

Dairy mple looked at her steadily. “I have a strong 
belief,” he said, “that she is in this house.” 

Now the fire in the soul of the maid blazed up. 
Seeing Major Claverden approaching across the lawn, 
she ran down to him, and informed him, with as 
much respectful deference as her angry soul allowed, 
that there was a gentleman at the door who wanted 
to see Miss Ardis, and who as much as said to her that 
she bore false witness when she told him that Miss 
Ardis had gone away. 

The major looked toward the house, and recognized 
Dalrymple. “Did you tell him where Miss Ardis had 
gone ? ” he asked. 

“No, indeed, sir,” replied the servant, “and I don’t 
reckin he’d ’a’ b’lieved me, if I had.” 

“Very well,” said the major, “I will see him.” 

The major slowly ascended the steps of the piazza, 
and gravely but courteously shook hands with the 
young man. “Will you walk into my library, sir?” 
said he. 

Egbert Dalrymple gazed past him at a solitary float- 
ing cloud, and asked : “Is your daughter within, sir ? ” 

“Will you kindly walk into my library?” repeated 
the major, more emphatically than before. 

Dalrymple raised his eyebrows, and then, without a 
word, followed the major into the library. The latter 
closed the door and invited his visitor to be seated. 


479 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


When he had settled himself comfortably in his favor- 
ite arm-chair, the major crossed his legs, fixed his eyes 
upon Dalrymple, and remarked : “I believe, sir, that 
you have been informed that my daughter is not at 
home .’ 7 

“The servant so said,” replied the other, “but I 
place small credence in the words of such people.” 

“Sir,” said the major, still speaking quietly and 
courteously, although with an unusual lack of smooth- 
ness in his tones, “the domestics in my house, when in 
discharge of their duties, speak the truth. Were they 
discovered doing otherwise, they would not remain 
here an instant. That is all that is necessary to be 
said upon that point. And now, sir, I wish to ask 
you why you came here to-day to see my daughter. 
She has informed me of what occurred at your latest 
visit here, and has repeated to me the answer she made 
to your overtures. Now, do you come here merely as 
a neighbor to visit my house in an ordinary social 
manner, or do you come to persist in a suit which 
you have been positively and decidedly forbidden 
to make?” 

“I come,” said Dalrymple, folding his arms and 
looking straight before him, “because all that is in 
me, my soul of souls, the faculties of my intellect, and 
the affections of my heart,— all, indeed, that is truly 
me,— belong to your daughter. My part in life is to 
bring all this and to lay it before her. Rebuffs, prohi- 
bitions, are but as the wind that blows, storm-wind 
though it be. I bow. The tempest passes, and I rise 
again. Therefore am I here.” 

Major Claverden uncrossed his legs. He sat up in 
his chair, leaning slightly forward. His eyes were 
480 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


bright, and his voice, although stern, was not raised. 
“And therefore, sir,” said he, “I am going to place 
you in a position which no one has held in my life- 
time, nor during the lifetime of my father, nor, to the 
best of my belief, during that of my grandfather. I 
am going to forbid you to set foot upon this estate ! 
It grieves and mortifies me, sir, to say such a thing to 
the son of a neighbor, a resident of this community. 
But never in my life did I imagine that any one could 
appear before me, and declare, with the shameless 
effrontery which you have exhibited, his intention 
to continue, against all protests, the persecution and 
annoyance of a lady. It is not to be borne, sir ! 
You may go ! ” 

And at these last words the major rose to his feet. 
Egbert Dalrymple also stood up. 

“So!” he ejaculated. And then, with a bow, he 
turned and left the room. 

The major followed him to the hall door. Dal- 
rymple stepped out on the piazza, and then he stopped. 
Suddenly he turned around. 

“Will you inform me, sir,” he said, “at what house 
your daughter is visiting?” 

The major’s face grew fiery red. A storm of indig- 
nation rose within him, and angry words crowded to 
his lips. But before he could utter one of them, a tall 
negro man, with a spade upon his shoulder, appeared 
around a corner of the house. To quarrel at his own 
door, and to say something in the presence of his own 
servants of which he might afterwards feel ashamed, 
was impossible for Major Claverden. 

Stepping forward to the railing of the piazza, he said, 
in a voice which, though trembling, was tranquil corn- 
481 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


pared to that which had been on the point of bursting 
from him : “Henry, put down that spade, and go with 
this young man to the outer gate, and close it behind 
him.” 

“Yaas, sah,” said the negro, touching his hat. 

Egbert Dalrymple, followed by Henry, rode slowly 
to the outer gate. On his way, he drew from his 
buttonhole the flower which indicated the coming 
maturity of summer. He held it in his hand, and 
looked at it. 

“Faded?” he murmured. “Hardly.” And he re- 
placed it in his buttonhole. 

When he reached the gate, he put his hand in his 
pocket, gave the colored man a quarter of a dollar, 
and rode away. 


482 


CHAPTER XLIY 


Ardis Claverden returned from her visit in a 
somewhat disturbed state of mind. For two whole 
evenings, and two whole days, the young fellow at 
Rocklands had unremittingly courted her. She was 
annoyed and disappointed. At her former visits to this 
place nothing of the kind had occurred. The young 
fellow and his sisters had been pleasant companions 
for her. She had liked them all. But now the sisters 
had been thrown into the background. 

The fact was that Ardis had forgotten that circum- 
stances had very much changed. It had long been 
understood in the neighborhood— better understood, 
indeed, than by the persons concerned— that she and 
Roger Dunworth were intended for each other, and 
there was but little local interference with what was 
known to be the most cherished plan of the master of 
Bald Hill. But now Ardis was free, and, therefore, 
other people were free. 

The major did not inform his daughter of the Dal- 
rymple incident. He was very much disturbed and 
annoyed himself at having been obliged to speak to 
that young man in the way in which he had spoken. 
It had been a necessary thing to do, but, as the master 
of a house famed for long years for its genial hospital- 
483 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


ity, it had been very hard for him. The man had 
been sent away, definitely and decidedly, but the 
major shrank from telling his daughter how he had 
been sent away. 

The disquietude which Ardis’s visit to Rocklands 
had caused her did not last long, but it aroused in her 
an intense desire to do something, and to do it vigor- 
ously, and as painting was the work in which she de- 
lighted, she went vigorously to painting. Hitherto, 
her taste had inclined to head- and figure-painting, 
and landscape, when it appeared, being subordinated 
to the rest of the picture. But now her fancy turned 
its back upon the human form, and she determined to 
begin a large work which should be purely landscape. 
She decided upon a woodland scene, and, in a moment 
of very pardonable petulance, she gave her picture, 
even before she began it, the title, u Without a 
Man.” 

She had had enough of men, at least for the present. 
Say what she might please about the presence of Surrey 
in the neighborhood making no difference to her, it 
did make a difference. She did not walk out nor ride 
as frequently as she might have done, for fear she 
should meet him. Of course, it was of no consequence 
if she did meet him, but she did not wish to do so. 
She might think of Mr. Dalrymple as having been 
definitely dismissed, but the very thought of him an- 
noyed her. To that lively young man, Tom Prouter, 
she gave no consideration as a suitor, but his visits 
had begun to be a little tiresome. Fortunately, since 
Mr. Surrey had been his guest, he had come but sel- 
dom. And although the young fellow at Rocklands 
was not worth considering at all, his attentions had 
484 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


been so pointed, and his manner so ardent, that she 
could not entirely forget him. 

But she had one compensation. There should be 
no man in her picture ! Art was independent, and it 
could take in and leave out whatever it pleased. 

About a quarter of a mile from the Bald Hill house 
was a piece of woodland, partly of evergreens, and 
partly of chestnut and oak. A little stream ran through 
these woods, and in it were many picturesque spots. 
One of these nooks Ardis selected as the subject of her 
picture. It was a little amphitheatre entirely sur- 
rounded by trees, but with glimpses of vistas here and 
there, and every chance for effects of sunlight through 
the Pantheon-like opening above. 

This pleasant spot was not only a charming subject 
for a picture, but it also made an admirable studio, 
and here, every morning, Ardis came, accompanied by 
Uncle Shad carrying her easel and painting materials. 
The canvas she never trusted to his hands. When she 
had established herself, the old man left her. It was a 
retired spot, where no one was likely to come, and if 
she had needed assistance, it would not have been diffi- 
cult to summon it. It would have been easier, in fact, 
than she herself imagined it, for the major had ordered 
Uncle Shad, from the time he left Miss Ardis in the 
woods, to the hour when he had been told to come for 
her, to work in a part of the great garden where he 
could easily hear his mistress if she wanted anything 
and should call. More than that, she had always the 
company of Monaco, her father’s old pointer. 

Ardis was charmed with her studio, and if the fine 
weather continued long enough, she determined to 
sketch and finish her picture in it. It should grow 
485 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


up and come to maturity in the place where the trees, 
the vines, the bushes, and the delicate wood flowers 
depicted on its canvas had grown up. 

It happened to be a season of fine weather. The 
farmers did not like it, because their crops would have 
been the better for some rain, but it suited Ardis ad- 
mirably. If she worked hard, she could finish her 
picture before a change of the moon, or whatever it 
was that regulated the weather, should cover the fair 
blue sky with dull and heavy clouds laden with rain. 

Between the wood where Ardis was painting and 
the house grounds was a small stretch of open grassy 
fields, and, one morning, Mr. Surrey, standing in the 
highroad, saw Ardis and the dog, followed by the old 
negro carrying the easel, the camp-stool, and the box, 
cross this open space and enter the woods. 

It was the first time that Surrey had seen her during 
his present visit. She was at a considerable distance, 
but his eyes were sharp, and they dwelt with sparkling 
pleasure upon the vision of this charming girl crossing 
the green field. He could discern the profile of her 
face, shadowed as it was by her hat. Every fold and 
flutter of her dress seemed to him full of grace, and it 
was a joy to look upon that lithe, erect figure, stepping 
so quickly and lightly over the turf. 

Jack Surrey was not in the habit of denying himself 
any joy which he could get for nothing, or for which 
he did not have to pay too much. He did not deny 
himself this one. He stood, leaning on the fence, and 
watched her. The canvas in her hand, and the negro’s 
burden, showed plainly the object of her walk. 

“She is on her way to those woods to sketch,” said 
Surrey to himself. “By George ! it is a vile extra va- 
486 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


gance, it is a waste of blissful influence, for her to go 
and sketch in those woods, and nobody with her but 
that old negro ! But the waste will have to be waste, 
I suppose. There is nothing for me in that quarter.” 

He watched her until she passed out of sight among 
the trees, and then he remained at the fence, his eyes 
still upon the spot where she had disappeared. Pres- 
ently he saw the old negro come out of the woods and 
take his way toward the house. 

“Well ! ” exclaimed Surrey, starting back from the 
fence, “this is a pretty state of affairs ! I don’t call it 
exactly safe ! However, the dog is with her.” 

With his hands thrust into his pockets, as if he 
could thus express the force of his emotions, Surrey 
strolled along the roadside toward Prouter’s house. 
Then he turned, and strode back again to the place 
from which he had seen Ardis. Whether he was 
waiting to see her recross the open space, or whether 
he felt that by remaining in that locality he was ex- 
ercising a certain protection over her, he could not 
have readily answered. Anyway, it pleased him as 
well to be there as anywhere else, and, lighting a cigar, 
he continued to walk up and down the path by the 
roadside, sometimes making long stretches and some- 
times short ones. 

Tom Prouter, who was on the top of a hill in the 
neighborhood, looking for a good site for a reservoir, in 
case he should conclude to pump water from the low- 
lands to a height from which it could run in a pipe to 
his domain, caught sight of Surrey, and stopped to 
look at him. At first he wanted to see where he was 
going, and then, seeing him make a turn, he continued 
to watch him, and saw him make several turns. 

487 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“What’s the matter with him?” he said to himself, 
“If I wanted to walk, I’d go somewhere ! There are 
plenty of places to go to. Why doesn’t he go to one ? 
I asked him to come up here with me, but he said he 
felt too lazy. And well he might say so, for that’s 
what I call beastly lazy, walking and going nowhere.” 

The thought now struck Prouter that it would be 
a fine thing to take this opportunity to go over to 
see Miss Claverden. The recent infrequency of his 
visits to Bald Hill had been entirely owing to the fear 
that, if Surrey knew he intended to go there, he would 
offer to accompany him. To be sure, his guest had 
asserted that he had no further designs upon the lady 
of that house, but, for all that, Prouter thought it 
would be very well not to subject him to temptation. 
Now, here was a chance to get to Bald Hill without 
Surrey knowing anything about it, and he hastened 
to avail himself of it. He ran along the top of the 
hill, down the other side of it, around its base, over a 
field, across the road, and so to the other side of the 
Bald Hill house, which he approached by the valley 
of the little stream which ran at the bottom of the 
lawn. By taking this circuitous and cautiously planned 
route, Prouter made it impossible for Surrey to see him, 
even if the latter extended his walk some distance in 
his direction. 

When he reached the house, Prouter was told that 
Miss Claverden was not at home, and that the major 
had gone to Bolton. Whereupon he departed in a 
straight line for his own house, and berated the labor- 
ers in his vineyard. 

When Surrey began to tire a little of walking, he 
climbed a fence and sat down under a tree. Here he 
488 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


was not noticeable, either from field or road. How 
many cigars he smoked before he saw Uncle Shad go 
down to the woods, and soon after reappear, carrying 
the paraphernalia, as he followed his mistress with the 
canvas, Surrey did not know. He had been busily 
thinking. 

From the time that Ardis again came into view to 
the moment she disappeared from his sight, Surrey 
never took his eyes from her. Then he arose and 
wended his way toward Prouter’s house. 

“That is a big canvas ! ” he thought, as he walked. 
“And the old darky carried all her painting traps ! 
She is not sketching— she is painting, and, if it does 
not rain, it is ten to one she will go there again to- 
morrow.” 

It did not rain the next day, and again Surrey saw 
Ardis pass the open space. Again he saw her return 
home. The third day was the same. And during 
that morning Surrey had a discussion with himself. 

“This is getting to be rather a heavy game,” he said 
to himself, “and fate is coming it somewhat too strong 
on me ! I can stand about as much temptation as 
any man, but this sort of thing is too much of the 
whirlpool order, and I seem to be going round the 
outer edge of it. What ought a man to do in such a 
case, anyway ? Am I not making an ass of myself by 
dawdling about here, within five minutes’ walk of her, 
when it might be the easiest thing, the most natural 
thing in the world, just to drop in on her! It would 
be a perfect accident, of course, and ten to one she 
would not mind it in the least. In fact, she might 
like it ! It is more than probable, indeed, that she 
would be very glad to have me drop in on her — at 
489 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


least, in that way. But, on the other hand, when I 
started down here, I swore off from everything of the 
kind. When a man has fought a duel with a girl’s 
lover, and has broken off the match, and has been 
squarely and positively discarded himself, it is a little 
out of order for him to have anything more than a 
bowing acquaintance with the lady in question. I 
have vowed to myself that I would not go near her. 
And now, see what a pressure in the other direction is 
brought upon me ! I may have been a fool to come 
here, but that point can be dropped. I am here.” 

Soon after this, Ardis passed toward her house. The 
face of the canvas she carried was turned toward Sur- 
rey, and, even at this distance, he could see that a 
woodland scene was beginning to appear upon it. 

“ There will be a lot of work on that picture yet,” 
he said to himself, and he looked up at the sky. 
There were no signs of coming bad weather. 

When Surrey reached home, it was past luncheon- 
time. 

“Are you making up a piece for the papers? ” asked 
Prouter. “I knew a fellow who had to write one 
thing a week for the ‘Fligwich Courier/ and, by 
George ! he had to slouch up and down the Parson’s 
Mile for a day or two every week before he got the 
thing worked out in his head ! Is that your lay t ” 

“Can’t say,” said Surrey. “I don’t know whether 
my little job is to be a piece for the papers, or not. 
But I think that will be settled before long.” 

The next day Surrey was not the cool and self-pos- 
sessed man that he usually was. After he had seen 
Ardis pass into the woods, he did not get over the fence 
into the field, but remained on the roadside. For 
490 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

some reason, he seemed greatly to prefer the road- 
side. 

“Now,” said he to himself, “I surely am a fool if 
I keep up this sort of thing any longer ! I can’t 
go lounging about here without people noticing it. 
Prouter may wonder why I always choose one place 
to write my piece, and, if he comes here and sees her, 
he will put in his oar, and that will end the business. 
I have waited long enough. If I do anything, I ought 
to do it to-day. But whether to do anything, or not, 
is the point ! ” 

When Surrey had previously said to himself that it 
would be an easy and natural thing to drop in upon 
Ardis while painting in the woods, he had spoken 
understanding^. He had a great fancy for walking 
about and exploring, and during his prolonged visit 
at Bald Hill he had made himself thoroughly ac- 
quainted with the surrounding country. 

He knew all about this piece of woodland. He had 
walked through it often. He knew the path that led 
to it from the direction of the house, and he knew also 
that, not a quarter of a mile beyond the spot where he 
took his observations, a narrow roadway, now unused 
and greatly overgrown, led from the highroad into 
the heart of the woods. At the entrance to this road 
was a gate, which was nailed up, but between one of 
the gate-posts and the next fence-post was a space, not 
wide enough to admit the passage of a horse or cow, 
but through which an ordinary man could pass with 
ease. 

Frequently had Surrey, returning from a walk, 
slipped through this gap and taken the shady wood- 
land road toward the house. Now, what was there to 
• 491 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


prevent him from taking this route through the woods 
to-day? He did not know exactly where Ardis was 
painting, hut he could not fail to get sight of her. He 
did not see why anybody could object to his passing 
through those woods, nor why anybody should ima- 
gine that he had had the least idea he should find an 
artist at work therein. Simple ? Why, nothing could 
be more simple and ordinary ! If her greeting should 
be cold, he could pass on. If she received him pleas- 
antly, he would stop. He would be governed entirely 
by her manner. 

“By George!” he said to himself. And then he 
stopped. “But no. I will walk slowly toward that 
gap, and when I get there I will positively decide.” 

Surrey started on his walk leisurely toward the point 
where he was to make his decision, and he had not 
gone half the distance when he noticed a man coming 
down the road and approaching him. The man was 
still at some distance, but Surrey recognized him. It 
was Boger Dunworth. 

Surrey was a little surprised to see Dunworth on 
foot, but otherwise his only feeling was one of satis- 
faction. He had wanted to speak with Dunworth, 
and had hoped that he might sometime meet him on 
the road. He wished to say to his late antagonist 
that, so far as he was concerned, bygones were by- 
gones, that he was really sorry at the turn events had 
taken on account of the duel, and that he had come 
down here because he liked the country and the peo- 
ple, and that he had no desire to interfere with any- 
body’s purposes or aims. On these points he intended 
to dilate more or less, according to the spirit in which 
Dunworth met him. It would be an important step 
492 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


toward creating a friendly feeling in the neighbor- 
hood, if he were to come to a satisfactory understand- 
ing with Dunworth. 

To be sure, this was not the time he would have 
chosen for the interview, but it would do very well. 
The decision he was going to make when he arrived 
at the gap could be postponed for a short time. 

It was, indeed, an unusual thing for Roger Dunworth 
to be seen afoot. He was a horseman by nature, and 
being also a busy man, he seldom wasted his time by 
walking on the roads. But this morning he had been 
making some measurements in one of his outlying 
fields, and when he had finished, he determined not to 
go back to the house, but to walk to Bald Hill. He 
had been very busy, making plans and surveys of his 
farm, and inventories of his stock and other property. 
He intended to offer his place for sale, and had reason 
to believe that he could easily dispose of it. When 
this business should be completed, it was his pur- 
pose to buy in Georgia a large tract of land which 
he had thoroughly examined on his trip through that 
region. 

So far, he had not spoken of his plans to any one, 
but now that they were well perfected, he wished to 
make them known to his old friend, and the friend 
of his family, Major Claverden. Of course this loyal 
Virginian would scout the idea that it would be for 
the advantage of a man to emigrate from this county 
to Georgia, but Dunworth was prepared for objec- 
tions, and knew very well that he should not be 
turned from his purpose. He wished to explain the 
matter to the major before the latter heard about it 
from any one else, but not until this morning had he 
493 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

been able to bring his mind to the point of going to 
Bald Hill. 

It would be very hard for him to go to the house 
in which Ardis lived, and he was willing to postpone 
this ordeal as long as possible, but Major Claverden, 
as well as Ardis, lived at Bald Hill, and Roger did 
not even consider the possibility of making the radi- 
cal change he contemplated without seeing the major. 
Soul-harrowing topics might be touched upon in the 
interview, but this could not be helped. If possible, 
he would avoid seeing Ardis, and he believed she 
would make it possible. 

When Dunworth, striding rapidly along the road, 
raised his eyes and beheld Surrey coming toward him, 
he, too, experienced a certain satisfaction. He had 
heard that Surrey was visiting Prouter, and had 
thought that, if he happened to meet the man, he 
would say to him that he had had no intention of 
wounding him in the affair in which they had been 
engaged, and that, indeed, he had not known, until 
some time afterwards, that Surrey had been wounded. 

But, as Surrey came nearer, there was something in 
the expression of his countenance, something in the 
jaunty manner of his walk, something in the man’s 
demeanor and appearance, which so grated upon the 
soul of Dunworth, and which brought up so forcibly 
the recollection of miserable moments, that a sudden 
chill ran through him. He could not meet that man, 
he could not speak to him— at least, not now, on his 
way to Bald Hill. 

He was on the point of turning back, but at that 
moment he reached the gap by the side of the old 
gate. Without hesitation, he turned and went through 
494 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


the opening. This was a perfectly natural thing to 
do. Surrey need not suppose he had recognized him, 
nor could any one have reason to imagine that it had 
not been his original intention to take this path 
through the woods. 

Dunworth disappeared among the trees and the 
heavy undergrowth, and Surrey stopped as if he had 
been shot. 

“By the Lord Harry!” he exclaimed. “Here’s a 
pretty piece of business ! Did he turn in there be- 
cause he saw me ? He’ll walk straight upon her ! 
Straight to her he is bound to go ! Did I do that? 
Did the sight of me turn him square around and send 
him into those woods ? ” 

For some minutes Surrey stood still by the roadside. 
“Now am I well paid,” he ejaculated, “for my stupid, 
my asinine hesitation ! It is of no use for me to go in 
there now, and it is ten thousand to one that it will 
rain to-morrow ! ” 

With this, Surrey jammed his hands into his pockets, 
clenching his fists so that his nails nearly punctured 
the flesh. Suddenly he made a resolution. He would 
go to his old point of observation, and when he saw 
Dunworth come out into the open field, he would 
himself go into those woods and find Ardis. Of what 
might happen he took no thought. He considered 
only that, after this morning, there might be no chance 
of finding her in those woods. 

With this determination, he went to the spot from 
which he could command the open space between the 
wood and Bald Hill, and watched. 


495 


CHAPTER XLY 


When Roger Dunworth had suddenly turned aside 
into the woods, his pace became slower. There was 
reason for this, for the roadway was uneven, and, be- 
sides, he was thinking in that undetermined way 
which makes people walk slowly. His avoidance of 
Surrey had been entirely a matter of impulse, and now 
he asked himself if this were right and manly. It 
was probable that Surrey had recognized him, and 
might well suppose that the animosity which occa- 
sioned the duel still continued on Dunworth’s side. 
This was not at all desired by Roger. But he would 
not turn back now. He would go to Prouter’s house 
and see Surrey. That would be a straightforward and 
satisfactory thing to do. 

Having come to this conclusion, Dunworth stepped 
on a little more briskly. But when he had walked half 
through this piece of woodland, he suddenly stopped. 
The roadway curved to the right in the direction of 
the Bald Hill house, but there was a short pathway to 
the left, and happening to glance along this to an open 
space beyond, Dunworth saw a woman’s dress— he saw 
a woman sitting on a stool— he saw Ardis Claverden 
painting in the woods. 

Her back was partly turned toward him, and he 
496 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

could see a portion of her side-face. She was sitting 
in the shade, and her hat was thrown upon the ground. 
Her hair seemed softer and more abundant than he 
had ever seen it before. She did not wear the long 
apron of the studio, and her cool, fresh morning cos- 
tume showed charmingly against the leafy background. 

The woods were very still. Some patches of morn- 
ing sunlight lay upon the ground behind Ardis, and 
over these moved gently the shadows of high-growing 
leaves and twigs, which caught the breeze. He stood 
and watched every movement she made. All was 
quiet and tranquil without, but a great sea began to 
roll in upon his soul. Deeper and deeper it swelled, 
brighter and stronger grew its waves. Before him was 
Ardis Claverden, the love of his life. 

The sea rose higher and higher. Everything that 
had been built by her or by him to shut it out was 
swept away and carried out of sight. It bore Roger 
Dunworth on the crest of its great waves. He could 
not resist its power— he felt no desire to resist it. 

Presently she leaned back, and, with her brush in 
one hand and her maul -stick in the other, she sur- 
veyed her work. Now Roger could see the beautiful 
profile of her face— those perfect outlines, that little 
mouth, the lips just parted by the interest she felt in 
the work she was doing, that delicately tinted cheek, 
so smooth and tender to the touch, as well he knew, 
that white throat above the blossom-colored ribbon. 
Oh, for one look into those dark eyes, now turned away 
from him ! This woman was his love ! By her own 
confession, she was his love ! 

Roger stood still no longer, but walked straightway 
into the open space. Monaco, who had been sleeping 
497 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

in the sunlight, arose with a little growl, which ceased 
when he recognized a friend of the house. Ardis 
turned quickly. The appearance of any one would 
have surprised her, but now she was truly startled. 

“Mr. Dun worth ! 77 she exclaimed, and there was in 
her intonation a reproachful inquiry. Although her 
words did not ask him why he came there, her man- 
ner did. 

Roger took no notice of her words or manner. He 
stepped near her, and looked down into her face. 
“Ardis , 77 said he. 

Now a flush came into that beautiful face, and in an 
instant Ardis sprang to her feet. “Mr. Dunworth , 77 
she said, “you have no right to speak to me or to look 
at me in that way ! 77 

“I have every right in the world , 77 replied Roger. 

Ardis now moved back a step or two. The flush left 
her cheeks and temples and became a bright light in 
her eyes. “Mr. Dunworth , 77 she said, “you will oblige 
me by leaving me. I wish to be here alone . 77 

Roger did not move from where he had been stand- 
ing. His eyes were steadily fixed upon her. “I will 
not explain how I came here , 77 he said. “It is not 
worth a word. Being here, I shall speak to you. 
Without regard to anything I have done, or any- 
thing you have said, I will tell you that I love 
you with a love that cannot be set aside by anything 
that can come between earth and sky. I know you 
love me. You have never told me you did not love 
me — 77 

Ardis interrupted him. “Thank you , 77 she said, 
speaking quickly. “That is a noble advantage to take 
of the frankness and honesty with which I spoke to 
498 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


you when we parted ! If you did not comprehend my 
meaning then, I will tell you again that I will not hear 
the words you have spoken from a man who does not 
trust me. And now that you must understand me, 
will you go ? ” 

“No,” said Roger, “I will not go. Nothing you can 
say of what I have done, or of your reasons for judg- 
ing me, can make me go. If you tell me that you do 
not love me, I will go.” 

“Is this manly?” said Ardis. “I am not strong 
enough to compel you to go. I can only ask you to 
do so.” 

“There is nothing strong enough to compel me to 
go,” replied Roger, “but the words which tell me that 
you do not love me. Can you say those words ? ” 

The flush came again into the cheeks of Ardis. She 
made a step forward. “Roger Dun worth,” she said, 
“is there nothing on earth that can make you leave 
me? Nothing that can make you respect my wishes, 
my rights ? ” 

“There is nothing,” said Roger, “but the words which 
tell me that you do not love me.” 

Ardis fixed her eyes upon him with a straight- 
forward gaze. “You have no right to ask me to say 
those words,” she said. 

The sea in the soul of Roger Dunworth surged more 
wildly. His breast heaved. A great light came into 
his eyes. “Until you say them, I will never go ! ” he 
cried. 

Ardis still looked at him steadily. “You will not 
go ? ” she said. 

“No,” was his firm answer. 

“Then stay ! ” said Ardis. 

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ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Half an hour afterwards, Jack Surrey, at his post of 
observation, saw two persons come out of the woods 
and walk slowly across the open space to the house. 
One of them was Ardis Claverden, the other was Dun- 
worth. In one hand he carried her canvas, and both 
her hands were clasped round his other arm. She 
looked up into his face, and he looked down upon her. 
They knew not that any human eye was upon them, 
nor did they care. They walked on under the fair 
blue sky, happier than all the world. 

“By the Lord Harry ! ” said Surrey. And he took 
off his hat and wiped his brow. He stood and watched 
the distant couple. “Did I do that?” he asked him- 
self. Then, after a long gaze, he turned and got over 
the fence into the road. There he stopped, and again 
addressed himself : “Did the sight of me turn him into 
those woods ? I believe it did ! I truly believe it 
did ! ” He was almost past the gap when he stopped 
and turned. A grim smile showed itself under his 
mustache. “So much for that ! ” he said, and leisurely 
walked toward Prouter’s house. 

The proprietor of the establishment was standing 
in the open doorway, clad in a white linen jacket, and 
placidly smoking a pipe. “Hi ! ” he cried, as Surrey 
came near. “Back early to-day ! How does your 
piece come on?” 

“It is finished,” said Surrey. 

“Turn out all right?” asked Pr outer. 

“That depends,” said Surrey. “Some people may 
think it is all right, and others may have different 
opinions. But I imagine it is about as near right as 
such things generally are.” 

“They never are right,” said Prouter. “What you 
500 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


read one day is knocked into a cocked hat by what 
comes along next day. The whole lot is a beastly 
nuisance.” 

Surrey smiled, and seated himself in a wooden arm- 
chair which stood under a small sassafras-tree near the 
house, the only shade-giving vegetation on the estate. 

“Do you know / 7 said Prouter, suddenly changing the 
subject to arboriculture, “that I have a mind to go 
right to work and plant my double row of trees from 
the house to the road f When it comes to that sort of 
thing, the longer one waits the worse it is for him. Y ou 
can build a house a great deal faster than you can 
make trees grow, and it stands to reason that you ought 
to give good odds to the trees. I’ll make those fellows 
come out of the vineyard and dig the holes and plant 
the trees. By George ! I’ll begin this afternoon ! ” 

“Do you know,” said Surrey, “that Roger Dun worth 
is going to marry Miss Claverden ? ” 

Tom Prouter stopped smoking, his mouth opened, 
and his face turned redder. “Who told you that?” 
he shouted. 

“Nobody,” answered Surrey. “I speak from my own 
knowledge. They are the most devotedly attached 
lovers I ever saw— at least, in the open air. If you 
had seen them as I saw them to-day, walking across a 
field, you would not have needed any one to tell you 
that everything is all right now between those two. 
Yes, sir, they are to be married. There is no possible 
doubt of that.” 

Prouter now stepped out upon the very little porch 
in front of his house. He threw his pipe upon the 
ground, scattering sparks in every direction. He 
stamped his foot, he stretched out his right arm, he 
501 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


shook his clenched fist at Surrey. “I’ll be hanged / 7 
he exclaimed, “I’ll be doubly hanged, if you don’t ruin 
everything within ten miles of you ! You can’t come 
into a place without making the very grass-seeds rot 
in the ground before you. You’re a blight ! You’re 
a plague ! You’re a curse-creeping pestilence ! ” 

Surrey took out a cigar and proceeded to light it. 
“ What’s the matter now?” he said. 

“ Matter ! ” roared Prouter. “ Anything but a stone- 
blind horse-post would see what is the matter ! Every 
day since you have been here I have been intending 
to go over to see Miss Claverden, but I didn’t want 
you hounding after me to Bald Hill, spoiling every- 
thing that you touched or looked at, and so I thought 
I’d keep away from there until you had gone. I was 
getting on vastly well with her till you came. And 
now, look at it ! I am too late ! There is no use 
going there at all ! ” 

Surrey laughed aloud. “Tom Prouter,” he said, 
“don’t work yourself into a rage. Of course there is 
no use in your going to Bald Hill, if Miss Claverden 
is your object, and there never was, and there never 
could have been, any use in it. If you were the only 
man east of the Rocky Mountains, she wouldn’t marry 
you. And, what is more, I don’t believe she would 
marry any man, east or west of the Rockies, if that 
man were not Roger Dunworth. I have not been sure 
of it all along, but I am quite positive now that the 
break between that worthy couple was not a snap- 
short. They were bound to come together again, and 
fellows like you and me had no better chances in that 
quarter than a couple of Chinese laundrymen.” 

Prouter did not immediately answer, but stood look- 
502 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


ing steadfastly at the other. “Do yon believe you 
never had any chance?” he presently said. 

“Never a ghost of one,” answered Surrey. 

Prouter’ s face now began to assume its ordinary color. 
“Now, really,” said he, “you do believe that, do you?” 

“Believe it?” said Surrey. “I am positively sure 
of it ! ” 

Prouter came down the few steps of his porch, and 
picked up the wooden pipe he had thrown from him. 
He looked into its black depths for a moment, and 
then he turned abruptly to Surrey. “Look here,” 
said he, “let’s put some things in a bag, and go down 
in my trap to the lower end of the county, and find 
that nigger sailor who can cook.” 

“Good ! ” said Surrey. “I am your man ! ” 

The next morning the two started for the lower end 
of the county. When, after a devious journey, they 
arrived at their destination, they found that the negro 
in question had never been a sailor, and that he could 
not cook. They also discovered that a year before he 
had gone to Iowa with a party of negro emigrants. 

On the evening of the day of their return, after a 
late supper, Prouter was walking contemplatively up 
and down the floor. “What are you going to do now ? ” 
he said to Surrey. 

“Do?” said the other. “Nothing in particular.” 

“I thought you’d be likely to want to go away from 
here,” said his host. 

“I have not the slightest idea in the world of going 
away,” said Surrey. “When I first came I felt that 
the situation was a little awkward for me, but it is not 
in the least so now. I intend to stay here, and be as 
happy as I can. If you can keep me, I should like it, 
503 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

and we can each throw in onr money and make a pool 
for expenses. But if you don’t fancy that, I can go 
somewhere else in the neighborhood. Now that this 
Bald Hill matter has been straightened out, I feel free 
to go where I please.” 

“Oh, you can stay here, if you like,” said Prouter, 
“that is, if I don’t sell the beastly place. If I can’t 
find anybody to buy it, I’ll tell you what I have a 
mind to do. I am thinking of digging for petroleum 
on this place. I don’t know that there is a chance of 
finding any, but one never knows about that sort of 
thing till he tries, and it will give those scoundrels in 
the vineyard something to do. It’s of no use for them 
to work among those grape-vines, and I have engaged 
them for a year. I should like to see them dig a hole 
so deep that they could never get out of it.” 

“I wouldn’t throw up the vineyard like that,” said 
Surrey. “Something may come of it.” 

“Come of it ! ” exclaimed Prouter, stopping suddenly 
in his walk. “I’ll tell you what might come of it ! If 
those lazy beasts should take to working instead of 
sleeping, and those stupid young vines should take to 
growing and having grapes on them, and those grapes 
should be like the grapes on that row of old vines on 
the top of the hill, and wine should be made of the 
grapes, there’d be nothing got out of the whole busi- 
ness but cramp-colic. You have tasted those grapes. 
Now, really, you wouldn’t drink wine made from them, 
would you?” 

“Not a drop of it,” said Surrey. “Let’s stick to 
whiskey and water.” 

And Prouter, going to the closet, brought out the 
bottle. 


504 


CHAPTER XL VI 


“I tell you, sir,” said Major Claverden, standing 
with his back to the empty fireplace of his library, 
pipe in hand, and a shining joy on his ruddy counte- 
nance, “this is truly living ! Now I feel as if my life 
were a success. Yes, sir, a success. I have had my 
disappointments and my losses. Disappointments and 
losses are perhaps yet before me. But what matters 
that, sir? Not a whit ! I have had two great objects 
in life. One of them may come to nothing. Let it be 
so ! The other is accomplished. My daughter will 
marry the man of her choice and of my choice— the 
man who, above all other men, is worthy of her. Now, 
tell me, sir, can there be, for a person of my age, for 
the father of a daughter like my daughter, a greater 
earthly joy than this!” 

Dr. Lester was seated in a leather arm-chair, not 
far from the major. As it was a fine moonlight even- 
ing, he had walked over to Bald Hill, and had just 
been informed by the master of the house of the 
blessed event which had taken place that morning— 
the coming together again of Ardis and Roger. The 
doctor, too, held a pipe in his hand. He had lighted 
it, but it was now entirely out. He was evidently 
agitated, and for smoking purposes he had no breath 
505 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


at command. Who could help being agitated when 
told of such a happy event in a family of dear friends ? 

“It is true/’ he said, “very true. Nothing could be 
better than that.” 

This he said to the major, and this he also said to 
himself. What could possibly be better than it? 

The doctor had not yet seen Ardis. Roger had 
taken supper at Bald Hill, and he and Ardis had gone 
out for a walk. 

“As to my other object in life,” continued the major, 
—“at least, the object of my recent years,— it is one on 
which my heart has been truly set. In endeavoring 
to produce that to which I would be willing to give 
the name of the wine of Bald Hill, I have most 
faithfully and earnestly worked. Success in this 
undertaking of producing a wine equal to that brought 
from the most celebrated vineyards of the Rhine would 
result in a gift to my family, and to the people of this 
portion of the State, which would be an honor to me, 
and an advantage and a glory to them. Do you not 
agree with me, sir f ” 

“Most certainly,” said the doctor. “Nothing could 
be better.” 

“But,” said the major, “I have strong reasons for 
believing that there never will be any wine of Bald 
Hill. The vines upon which I have lately depended 
for my success do not give satisfactory promise. They 
do not as nearly approach the mark at which I am 
aiming as some vines which several years ago I grubbed 
up and threw away. If, in the autumn, the grapes 
which these present vines produce— and it will be 
their first bearing— do not resemble in appearance and 
flavor the fruit of the Johannisberger vineyards, I 
506 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


shall absolutely and entirely relinquish my attempts 
in this direction. But what does it matter, sir f My 
daughter will marry Roger Hunworth. This is enough. 
I shall die content. Give me your hand, sir. The 
next best thing to this great happiness itself is the 
pleasure of speaking of it to a friend like you .’ 7 

The doctor arose and took the proffered hand. 
“ Nothing could be better ,’ 7 he said. And then he 
bade his host good night. 

“ What ! 77 cried the major. “Will you not wait and 
congratulate Ardis ? It is yet very early. Those 
lovers will return presently, I am sure . 77 

But, in spite of the urgent entreaties of his host, the 
doctor persisted in his resolution to return. He was 
somewhat tired, and he would come the next day, or 
very soon, and congratulate Miss Ardis. As he shook 
the major’s hand in parting, he said : “I am glad to 
see you so happy. And, truly, nothing could be 
better ! 77 

All the way home— and he took a cross-country 
route, on which he would not be likely to meet any- 
body— Dr. Lester said to himself over and over 
again : “It is perfectly satisfactory. It is just what 
ought to have happened. It suits everybody. Noth- 
ing could be better . 77 And even after he had got 
home, and had gone to bed, he continued to say these 
things to himself. He positively convinced himself 
over and over again that nothing could be better. In 
fact, he made this conviction so strong that he did not 
sleep until the morning began to break. 

It was two days after this that Ardis, riding on the 
highroad, met Hr. Lester. She instantly brought 
Janet to a stop. 


507 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“Doctor,” she exclaimed, “yon are a recreant 
friend ! I never should have supposed it possible 
that yon would have allowed all this time to pass 
without coming to talk with me about what has hap- 
pened— a thing in which you once took such a lively 
and generous interest. Have you not been well ? ” 

The doctor answered that he had not been well. 
He had been intending to go to Bald Hill, and he was 
very sorry that he had not gone. He would be there 
very soon. But it surely was not necessary for him 
to tell Miss Ardis how happy he was in all that gave 
her happiness. 

“Particularly in this one thing,” she said. “I want 
everybody to be happier than they ever were before 
because I am going to marry Roger. And, by the 
way, doctor, why do you always walk nowadays? Is 
anything the matter with Cream-o ? -Tartar? ” 

“Oh, no, no,” the doctor answered quickly, “there 
is nothing at all the matter with him. I prefer to 
walk. It does me good.” 

Ardis shook her head. “I am not sure of that,” 
she said. “I think you were better when you rode 
more.” 

And then, when she took her leave and was can- 
tering away, she said to herself : “I must not forget 
his slippers. They must be finished by his birthday.” 

The work at the Dun worth farm— and there was 
always plenty of it— now began to add to itself 
branches which had not been seen there for many 
years. Everything in the way of surveying and in- 
ventories was stopped, and, in the mind of the owner 
of the estate, northern Georgia faded away until it 
became like an unnoticed speck on the horizon. It 
508 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


had been settled that he and Ardis were to marry at 
the end of August, and his house was to be prepared 
for the reception of a mistress, the first it had had 
since the death of his mother, when he was a little boy. 

Paper-hanging, painting, carpenter work, lawn- 
renovating, and all that sort of thing, made the place 
lively, and gave many subjects for evening conversa- 
tion to Parchester, Skitt, and Cruppledean. Of late, 
these three had been thrown a good deal upon their 
own resources for social pleasures. Since his return 
from the South, Dunworth had, for the larger part of 
the time, been occupied, in his only spare moments, 
with his schemes and plans for a change of residence, 
and, since the day of his intrusion into a woodland 
studio, he had spent every evening at Bald Hill. 

Tom Prouter, too, had, in a measure, neglected his 
compatriots. He had, it is true, occasionally looked 
in upon them of a morning, but this was not very sat- 
isfactory to these students of husbandry, especially 
when they were at work at different places on the 
farm. They remembered with regret the jolly even- 
ings they used to have with Prouter, before that tire- 
some fellow with a big mustache came to stay with 
him. 

“How, really,” said Skitt, one evening, as the three 
Englishmen sat on the piazza, with their pipes, “I 
can’t see any reason why Tom Prouter should stick so 
closely to that man. Do you? ” 

“Ho, I don’t,” said Parchester. “I see plenty of 
reasons why he should try to get away from him, but 
none why he should stick to him. I never saw any- 
thing like it ! Tom is never really satisfied unless he 
has Surrey somewhere in sight.” 

509 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“Do you know / 7 said Cruppledean, knocking the 
ashes out of his pipe, and preparing to refill it, “I’ve 
been thinking lately that fellows oughtn’t to be too 
hard on a fool, because it’s about five to one he can’t 
help it. If he gets himself shunted on a side-track, 
he’s got to go where the side-track goes.” 

“He ought not to get himself shunted,” said Skitt. 
“He ought to keep on the main line.” 

“It’s beastly easy to talk,” said Cruppledean, “and 
I say, let the fools go ! If they get smashed up, it’s 
their affair ! Other people can look out for them- 
selves. I am going to look out for myself.” 

“How do you propose to do that?” asked Par- 
chester. 

“I am going to leave here,” said Cruppledean. “It 
is all very well while we are independent, and can act 
like men, but when a petticoat gets into the house, I 
say it is time to go.” 

“It depends a good deal,” said Parchester, quickly, 
“upon who wears the petticoat.” 

“Now, hear him ! ” cried Skitt. “I’ll wager a sov- 
ereign to a ha’penny that Parchester will want to stay 
here until he has learned all that anybody can teach 
him about Virginia farming, and, after that, he will 
want to stay on and learn how to disport himself as a 
husband and head of a family.” 

“You mean by that,” said Cruppledean, “that he 
has been hit? ” 

“Hit !” replied Skitt. “Of course he has ! She is 
like a Gatling gun— she hits all around.” 

“No, she doesn’t,” said Cruppledean. “She didn’t 
hit me.” 

“Look here ! ” said Parchester, turning upon his 
510 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


companions. “You two may as well shut up on that 
subject. I am going to stay here, because it always 
has suited me, and because I think it will suit me a 
great deal better when the house is kept in as good 
order as the farm is.” 

“Hear him ! ” cried Skitt. “How necessary is the 
refining influence of the sex to the happiness of the 
gentleman in cowhide boots ! ” 

“I don’t mind saying,” said Parchester, “that I go 
in for the sex. But, as I just now said, everything 
depends upon who wears the petticoat. Now, if Miss 
Airpenny were to be planted here as mistress of the 
house, I vow I would leave.” 

“You don’t mean to say,” cried Cruppledean, “that 
Dunworth ever had any idea of marrying Miss Air- 
penny f ” 

His companions burst out laughing. “Get away 
with you ! ” cried Skitt. “No wonder you never were 
hit ! Your rhinoceros hide is so thick that you 
wouldn’t know it if a dozen balls struck you ! ” 


511 


CHAPTER XLYII 


In these summer days Major Cl aver den, his daughter, 
and Roger Dunworth considered themselves the three 
happiest people in the world. They were happy be- 
cause of the positive good which had come to them, 
and happier still because this good had come to them 
after they had convinced themselves it was forever 
shut away from them. 

Their friends were also happy, and many came to 
tell them so. It struck Jack Surrey that he should 
like to be one of these. But, after giving the matter 
a good deal of consideration, he concluded that, if he 
had any idea whatever of settling in that part of the 
world, and wished to make friends of his neighbors, it 
would be well to allow the Claverdens and Dunworth 
the opportunity of making the first approaches to a 
renewal of acquaintance with him. They had done 
nothing of the kind, so far. Even the major, who once 
had seemed like an old friend to him, now appeared 
to be unaware of his presence in the county. Yes, he 
would wait and see what the changed conditions of 
things would bring about in regard to himself. 

In the meantime, there could be no possible harm 
in occasionally discussing the subject with mutual 
friends, and, with this purpose in view, he, one even- 
512 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

ing, walked up to Heatherley to call on Miss Norma 
Cranton. 

The first thing he did was to demand of that young 
lady a certain amount of gratitude for having obeyed 
her wishes by keeping aloof from Miss Claverden and 
Dunworth. “I do not know,” he said, “that my turn- 
ing my back on them had anything to do with what 
has happened. But I did turn my back, their en- 
gagement is renewed, everybody is satisfied ; and, even 
if I played a negative part in the matter, I think I 
deserve some credit.” 

“Yes, negative credit,” said Norma. 

Surrey arose, walked to the window, took a look at 
the back yard, and then returned to Norma. “Miss 
Cranton,” said he, “it strikes me that I am, really, a 
rather deserving sort of person. I came down here to 
serve my own purposes. Every man has a right to 
do that. I failed in those purposes. In fact, I am 
willing to admit that I made a doleful mess of it. 
But, all that being past and gone, I think some at- 
tention should be given to the steadfast way in which 
I have kept out of the affair ever since.” 

“Well,” said Norma, “that noble conduct may de- 
serve some sort of recognition. What sort would you 
like?” 

“I will tell you,” said Surrey, quickly, “exactly 
what sort I would like. I would like that everybody 
in this neighborhood should totally, absolutely, utterly, 
entirely, and completely forget that I ever had any- 
thing to do with the Dunworth- Claverden combina- 
tion, and that they should take me as I am, an honest- 
hearted man, coming here with the notion of making 
this region his home, intending, it may be, to go into 
513 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


partnership with Pronter or somebody else, and desir- 
ing to be on good terms with the surrounding popu- 
lation. Now, that isn’t much to ask in the way of 
gratitude, is it?” 

“No,” said Norma. “I think I might manage to 
give you that much myself. But, really, Mr. Surrey, 
you must excuse me if I leave you for a few minutes. 
I see that a hen out there, with a late brood of chickens, 
has broken through the coop, and she will lead her 
young family into all sorts of dangers. I must go and 
drive her back, and get somebody to mend the coop.” 

“Let me mend the coop ! ” cried Jack Surrey. 

“You ! ” said Norma, with a laugh. “What does a 
city man know about hen-coops ? ” 

“I should be ashamed to come from a city,” said 
Surrey, “where coop-mending was not thoroughly 
taught.” 

In ten minutes after that, Surrey, with hammer and 
nails, which Norma had brought to him, had fastened 
the loose bars of the coop, and, together, he and Norma 
had slowly and warily driven the hen and her tender 
brood back to their quarters. 

Ardis continued to work on her picture, and when 
it was finished, and not until then, she showed it to 
Roger. He was not a bad judge of pictures. 

“I believe,” he said, “that is the very best thing 
you have ever done.” 

“I am somewhat of that opinion myself,” said she. 
“At any rate, I am better satisfied with it than I gen- 
erally am with my work. But there is something very 
odd about this picture. It is exactly the opposite of 
what it was intended to be. I had fixed upon a title 
514 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


for it. It was to be called 1 Without a Man . 7 But, 
as a man, without invitation or permission, forced 
himself in upon this lovely scene, I have let him stay, 
and he has altered its whole purport. How do you 
like the figure ? 77 

Roger steadfastly observed the man in the landscape. 
“I do not know , 77 he said, “how I appear to the world, 
but I know very well how the world would appear 
to me if I had not appeared in that scene . 77 

In spite of the busy condition of affairs at his farm, 
Roger Dunworth found time to take frequent rides 
with Ardis. As they were cantering along an oak- 
shadowed road, one pleasant afternoon, they met Bo- 
netti, also riding. Ardis instantly reined up Janet, 
and the others also stopped. 

“Mr. Bonetti ! 77 exclaimed Ardis. “I am so glad 
to see dear old Cream-o 7 -Tartar again ! Why doesn’t 
the doctor ride him now f Has he lent him to you ? 77 

“The doctor doesn’t happen to own him at present , 77 
said Bonetti. “He belongs, in fact, to me.” 

“To you?” exclaimed Ardis. 

“Yes,” said Bonetti. “I got him in trade from a 
man on the other side of Bolton.” 

“And how did the man beyond Bolton happen to 
have him ? 77 asked Ardis, in a tone of excited interest. 

“The doctor sold the horse to him some time ago. 
Let me see. It was just before he made that trip down 
to Georgia. I reckon he was a little short of cash 
about that time. It wasn’t a bad piece of business,” 
continued Bonetti. “The doctor got his money, and 
the man, having got the horse cheap, could afford to 
let me have him on an easy trade,— days’ work being 
a good part of it,— and now I’ve got the horse. I 
515 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


really needed a horse, and it isn’t every day you can 
make such a bargain for one.” 

“Mr. Bonetti,” said Ardis, after a moment’s pause, 
“will you come to Bald Hill to-night? I want to see 
you on business.” 

“Certainly, certainly, Miss Ardis,” said Bonetti, and 
then he took his leave. 

“For the life of me,” said Roger, as the two rode on, 
“I do not see how Dr. Lester ever brought himself 
to the point of selling that horse ! For years the two 
have been the most constant friends. No matter how 
much he needed money, I should have supposed he 
would have sold anything he possessed rather than 
old Cream-o’ -Tartar !” 

“Perhaps he had nothing else to sell,” said Ardis. 
And there she let the subject drop. 

Ardis was perfectly trustworthy when a friend told 
her a secret. She was equally trustworthy when she 
discovered the secret of a friend. She had not dis- 
covered the doctor’s most important secret, but she 
had discovered that he had sold his horse to enable 
him to accompany her to Georgia. 

The slippers for the doctor were never finished, but, 
when his birthday arrived, he received as a present his 
good old Cream-o’ -Tartar. 


516 


CHAPTER XLYIII 

One afternoon, about this time, Jack Surrey visited 
Heatherley. He bad been there a great deal of late, 
on the general principle that, after Bald Hill, it was 
the pleasantest house in the neighborhood to visit. 
But now he went with a definite object : he was going 
to offer himself in marriage to Norma Cranton. 

For some time he had had this matter in his mind, 
and he had lately convinced himself, with very little 
trouble, that to marry Miss Cranton would be a very 
good thing for him to do. Norma, in some respects, 
was an odd kind of young woman, but this oddity in- 
terested him. She was lively and good-humored, and 
had plenty of sound, practical sense. More than that, 
she was good-looking. Jack Surrey had not noticed 
that on his first acquaintance with her, but it had 
gradually dawned upon him. Her family connections 
and her domestic position suited him very well, and 
he thought, with considerable satisfaction, that a mar- 
riage with her would be a direct and immediate ad- 
vantage to his own social position. At present this 
was, of course, unsatisfactory. A good many people, 
especially the Bald Hill people, did not appear to 
recognize the fact that he was residing in their midst, 
and as such a fact hitherto had been very generally 
recognized by people in whose midst he happened to 
517 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


be, the change appeared to him not only disadvan- 
tageous, but disagreeable. As the son-in-law of the 
Cranton family, or even its prospective son-in-law, he 
might expect to be received everywhere. 

As Jack walked briskly toward Heatherley he was 
in very good spirits. He wore a light summer suit 
and a straw hat, and these became him, and he knew 
it. He was going to do a pleasant thing, and that 
pleased him. He had no notion there could be 
any other issue to the business in hand than that he 
considered desirable. The love-affair immediately 
preceding this one had, indeed, been full of difficul- 
ties, but that there should be any difficulties in the 
present case did not even occur to him. 

When he reached the house, he found there a party 
of aunts and cousins who had come to spend the day. 
Norma was in her glory. With the most hospitable 
intentions, and with an unremitting flow of lively 
speech, she was making her guests happy in body and 
mind. 

Mr. Surrey was cordially welcomed, and presented 
to the company, on whom he made a very favorable 
impression. He was so bright and lively, and became 
acquainted with every one so easily and quickly, that 
there was a general expression of disapprobation when, 
after half an hour’s visit, he rose to go. He declined 
the most pressing invitations to stay to dinner, but 
when he had taken his leave, and had gone into the 
hall, he turned back to the parlor door, and asked Miss 
Cranton if he might speak with her a moment. 

“ Certainly,” said Norma, and as soon as she could 
finish what she was saying to her cousin, she followed 
him to the piazza. 


518 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“Now,” said she to herself, as she went out, “if he 
has come for advice about putting up fruit or vege- 
tables, I shall tell him that he and Mr. Prouter would 
better drop all that at once. Men can’t do that 
sort of housekeeping. They’d lose every cent they put 
in sugar and spices. Well, Mr. Surrey, what is it? ” 

“Miss Cranton,” said Surrey, speaking in a low voice, 
“I came here to-day to tell you that I love you de- 
votedly, and to ask you to marry me.” 

If one of the oaks on the lawn had suddenly raised 
itself on the tips of its roots, and turned a somerset 
before her, Norma could not have been more thor- 
oughly astounded. Her eyes opened to the widest, 
she held her breath. 

“Now, not one word of reply, Miss Cranton, I beg 
of you,” said Surrey. “I wish you to have time to 
think of what I have said. I will come to-morrow 
morning to hear your answer. Good-by.” 

Jack Surrey went away in a more cheerful mood 
than that in which he had come. “That is good busi- 
ness ! ” he said to himself. “I put in that shot sharp 
and deep. There was no dodging it, no warding it 
off. It was not the way I intended to do it, but I am 
not sure it was not better than any other way.” 

“Where are you going? ” said Prouter to Surrey, the 
next morning. “Really, it looks to me as if you were 
always going off by yourself, nowadays.” 

Surrey smiled. “The fact is,” said he, “I have a 
little piece of business to attend to this morning. But 
after I get through with that, I am at your service to 
do anything you like. What do you say to a coon 
hunt to-night? You have been promising me one 
ever since I have been here.” 


519 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Prouter’s eyes sparkled. “By George!” lie cried, 
“we’ll do it ! Do you want the trap ! ” 

“No, thank you,” said Surrey. “I can easily walk 
where I am going.” 

“All right!” cried Prouter. “Pll harness up this 
minute, and go round the country and get together all 
the coon dogs I can find. I’ll bring them home in the 
dog-cart, and have them ready for to-night.” 

Surrey laughed. “I don’t envy you your drive, with 
half a dozen curs, all strangers to each other, in the 
cart with you. But every man to his taste. Good 
luck to you ! ” And he left the house. 

“Look here ! ” cried Prouter, suddenly springing to 
the door. “Are you thinking of investing in land? ” 

Surrey stopped. “I really can’t say that that is 
what I am about to do,” he answered. 

“Very good,” said Prouter. “Don’t you do anything 
of that kind until you have had a talk with me. I 
may want to sell this shanty and colic-patch.” 

“I’ll remember you,” said Surrey, and he merrily 
went his way. 

Norma Cranton did not immediately present herself 
in the parlor where Surrey awaited her, and when 
at last she appeared, she carried a thin book in her 
hand, and on her face was an expression which seemed 
compounded of severity of moral principle, and an anx- 
iousness resembling that frequently occasioned by jelly- 
making. She did not appear to notice the hand which 
Surrey held out to her, and sat down in a chair near 
the door. Surrey stepped forward, gently closed the 
door, and seated himself near her. 

“Miss Cranton,” he said, “I have come to ask for an 
answer to what I said to you yesterday. I have come, 
520 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


too, to say a great deal more than I had an oppor- 
tunity to say in those few moments. I have come to 
implore you to be my wife, to accept the warm, ear- 
nest love of—” 

“ A man who has had a good deal of practice in that 
sort of thing,” said Norma, who under no circum- 
stances restrained herself from her habit of finishing 
people’s sentences for them. “But before you go any 
further, Mr. Surrey,” she said, handing him the book, 
which she opened at the pages between which her 
forefinger had been inserted, “I should like you to 
read that line.” And she pointed to it. 

“Poems'?” said Surrey. 

“Yes, poems,” answered Norma. Surrey read : 

“Once only, love, can love’s sweet song be sung.” 

He let the book drop on his knee, and looked at 
her. “Do you know,” said he, “I think that is most 
unmitigated bosh ! ” 

“I have a very different opinion,” said Norma. “I 
think it is truth— the eternal truth of ages.” 

“It is eternal stuff and nonsense,” said Surrey. “I 
know very well that this refers to my having been 
married before.” 

“You cannot have been married before,” said Norma, 
“unless you marry again.” 

“That is what I want to do,” said Surrey. 

“It is what you ought not to think of,” said she. 

“My dear young lady,” exclaimed Surrey, “I beg 
that you will banish that most perverting idea from 
your mind ! It is true, I loved, I married. My wife 
died years ago. Again I loved.” 

“Yes,” said Norma, “and that time Miss Claverden.” 

521 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“I declare / 7 said Surrey, “this is too bad ! Do you 
intend to go back and probe up everything I have 
done in my whole life ? 77 

“I would do so, if I could , 77 replied Norma. “I 
would mention the name of every woman you have 
been in love with . 77 

“There are no more , 77 said Surrey. “You have men- 
tioned them all, except yourself. Now, I am perfectly 
willing to admit that I was in love with Miss Claver- 
den. She declined to return my affection, and there 
was an end of it. My heart became perfectly free. I 
turned to you . 77 

Norma closed the book, which he had handed back 
to her. “I have no suitable words , 77 she said, “in 
which to express my dislike of that sort of grasshopper 
affection which skips from here to there whenever it 
pleases . 77 

“Mine is not that kind , 77 said Surrey, “and if it 
skips at all, it skips from there to here. And here 
it shall stay, I vow, as long as you allow it ! 77 

“I have never allowed it at all , 77 said Norma. 

Surrey made no answer to this remark. He gazed 
steadfastly at her. “Miss Cranton , 77 he exclaimed, 
“that ‘ once only 7 business is all wrong ! But, if you 
believe in it, let me love you once only— once for all 
—now and forever ! 77 

At this moment there was a quick step pn the piazza 
outside, and some one looked in through an open 
French window. It was Tom Prouter. 

“Miss Cranton , 77 he cried, “do you know if there are 
any coon dogs on this place f 77 And then, perceiving 
Surrey, who had hastily pushed back his chair, he ex- 
claimed in a vexed tone : “Did you come here after 
522 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


them? 'Now, really, it wasn’t any use. You can’t 
lead that sort of dog with a string or a chain. You’ve 
got to fetch them in a cart. I told you I’d attend 
to it.” 

Norma arose, very red in the face, but this was not 
noticed by Prouter, whose attention was now given to 
Surrey. “I don’t know, Mr. Prouter,” she said. “I 
will go and see if one of the men is about the house.” 

When she had left the room, Surrey turned to 
Prouter. “Do you know what you have done? ” said 
he. “You have interrupted me at a most critical 
moment. I was proposing marriage to Miss Cranton.” 

Tom Prouter gave vent to a long ejaculation. “Do 
you call that fair and square ? ” he said. 

“Of course it is,” said Surrey. “What is the matter 
with it ? ” 

“I like that, you know ! ” said Prouter. “You seem 
to have forgotten what you said to me this morning. 
She wouldn’t be willing to come to my place to live.” 

“Look here, Tom Prouter,” said Surrey, hurriedly, 
“there is no time for any of that talk. This is my 
business, and it will not interfere in the least with 
yours. She may be back any minute, and I want 
you to get away as fast as you can. Now you go down 
to the barn, and wait there until somebody comes to 
talk to you about the dogs, and don’t come back to 
the house till I give you the word.” 

“How long do you suppose it will take you? ” asked 
Prouter. 

“Get away!” said Surrey. “I can’t put a time 
limit to that sort of thing. Trot, now ! Quick ! ” 

Left to himself in the parlor, Surrey walked up and 
down the floor for a few minutes. But Norma did not 
523 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


return. Then he went out on the piazza, and tramped 
up and down there for a while. This was certainly 
very annoying. Of all the moments for a man to come 
in and inquire about coon dogs ! He went down on 
the grass, and walked nearly around the house, looking 
up at the windows. But he saw no Norma. Return- 
ing to the front, he ascended the steps of the piazza, 
and at the top he saw a bare-legged colored girl with 
a broom. She stood still and looked at him. She 
had never seen him before, and supposed he had just 
arrived at the house. 

“ Where is Miss Cranton 1 ?” asked Surrey. 

“Miss Norma *?” said the girl. “Dunno. I reckin 
she up -stairs.” 

“Well, go up and tell her— tell her a man wants to 
see her.” Surrey perceived that he was a stranger to 
the girl, and thought this message politic. 

The girl departed, and soon returned. “Miss Norma 
say she can’t come down jes’ now. Ef you’ll tell me 
what you want, I reckin she’d send you some sort o’ 
word.” 

“What is she so busy about*?” asked Surrey. 

“Dunno, ’zactly,” answered the girl. “Reckin she 
got a piece o’ glass in her eye.” 

“Glass in her eye ! ” exclaimed Surrey. 

“Well, I s’pects it’s glass,” said the girl, “or p’r’aps 
it’s a bit o’ oat-chaff, or a piece o’ yarn. Anyway, she 
swabbin’ it like everything.” 

“Well, you go up and tell her,” said Surrey, “that I 
can’t wait, and I can’t send any message. I want her.” 

So the black messenger went up-stairs and informed 
Norma that the man down-stairs wanted her. “I 
reckin you better go down an’ sen’ him off, Miss 
524 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Norma,” said the girl, “an ? when you come back, I’ll 
help you git dat trash outer you eye. He look like 
one ob dem pussons dat neber will go ’way till dey see 
de mistis.” 

A few minutes afterwards the girl informed the 
impatient Surrey that Miss Norma would be down 
presently. 

Surrey went into the parlor, and immediately closed 
the window opening upon the piazza, causing the girl 
to imagine that he was very much afraid of draughts. 
He walked up and down until the piazza had been 
swept, and the sweeper had departed, very much to 
his relief, and, soon afterwards, Norma entered the 
parlor, closing the door behind her. 

If Surrey had not been told that she had been “swab- 
bing ” her face, he would have known it from her ap- 
pearance. Her color was more variegated than usual, 
and she had a troubled, uneasy expression, but, with- 
out hesitation, she advanced to him and spoke. Under 
any circumstances, it was contrary to her nature to 
hesitate when she had anything to say. 

“Mr. Surrey,” said she, “you sent me word that you 
wanted me, and I have come to tell you that there 
are other reasons why you cannot have me.” 

“Other reasons ! What are they ? ” exclaimed Sur- 
rey, quickly. 

“In the first place, I can never leave my home. This 
home is part of me, and I am part of it. I could not 
tear myself from it, nor could I tear myself from my 
father, nor from my family. In the second place, it is 
plain you do not know me. I am a person accustomed 
to direct, to control. Everything in this house is man- 
aged by me. I like that. I cannot change my nature. 

525 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


It would be impossible for me to subject myself to the 
will of another. I cannot give up my independence.’ 7 

“ And these are your reasons ! ” exclaimed Surrey. 

“Yes,” said Norma. 

Standing and looking down upon her, Jack Surrey 
felt that his liking for Norma had never been greater 
than at this moment. His impulse was to stop discuss- 
ing the question, and to take her in his arms. But he 
restrained himself. He knew that if he lost his head 
he might lose the woman. 

“My dear child,” he exclaimed, “your reasons I 
blow to the winds ! Be mine, and you need never 
leave this home, unless you wish to. You shall always 
be its mistress, as you have been. You shall still care 
for your father and your family, and better than ever, 
for I will help you. Nothing shall be changed, ex- 
cept that I shall be with you, heart and soul, in 
everything.” 

She raised her eyes to him, but did not interrupt. 

“And as to your management of affairs here, my 
precious Norma,” he exclaimed, advancing a step 
nearer to her, “you should not have imagined that I 
could be so cruel, so blind to the interest of everybody, 
as to even try to change that ! Oh, no, my dear love, 
my darling ! Your hand shall ever be upon the helm. 
You it shall be who shall give the word of command. 
You shall order the sails flung to the winds, or furled 
from the storm. And you shall pipe all hands to holy- 
stone the deck, to board the enemy, or to muster aft 
for grog.” 

Norma raised her eyes again, and slightly smiled. 

“Now all your reasons have vanished ! ” cried Sur- 
rey. “You are mine ! ” 


526 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


He knew there was no further need for cautiousness, 
and he took her in his arms, and gave her, with hearty 
earnestness, her first kiss from a lover. He was about 
to repeat the pleasing performance, when she gently 
drew herself away. 

‘“Once only, love/ ” she said. “Father is coming.” 


527 


CHAPTER XLIX 


The engagement of Norma Cranton and Mr. Surrey 
surprised everybody. Most people disapproved of it, 
because, as Norma Cranton bad given ber friends and 
neighbors reason to suppose that she did not intend to 
marry, this change of purpose was looked upon as a 
breach of faith, and as for Surrey, he was probably an 
adventurer. If she wanted a husband, it would have 
been much better for her to have taken some one in 
her own county, who was known to herself and to her 
family. 

But her family were very well satisfied. When Mr. 
Cranton found that Surrey was a man who could give 
a good account of himself, and, above all, that he was 
willing to come there and live with them, and be one of 
them, he gave his full consent. If Norma must marry, 
this was the kind of husband she ought to have. 

Ardis, when she was informed of the engagement, — 
and Norma came to tell of it on the afternoon of the 
day on which it took place,— was amazed and grieved. 
Doubts and fears rushed upon her mind, and her up- 
permost feeling for her friend was that of pity. 

But when Norma, with sparkling eyes and glowing 
cheeks, had told her tale,— had told how, for some 
time, she had had a drawing toward Jack, and how the 
528 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


difficulties which she thought in the way had all been 
blown to the wind, and what an honest, free-hearted 
fellow he was, when one came truly to know him, and 
how they were to be married on Tuesday, the seven- 
teenth of the present month, and then to go to Old 
Point Comfort for a fortnight, because that was so near 
that if anything happened at home she could be easily 
summoned, and that she honestly could say she was 
never so truly happy in all her days,— Ardis breathed 
not one word of doubt, or fear, or pity. Norma was 
happy, and to her happiness Ardis gave her warmest 
and most loving sympathy. 

“But there is one thing,” she said, “which I do not 
understand at all. Tuesday, the seventeenth, is only 
two weeks from to-day. Why do you plan to be mar- 
ried so soon? You are wonderfully prompt in plan- 
ning, anyway. Did Mr. Surrey name the day in his 
proposition ? ” 

“No, he did not,” said Norma. “I had as much to 
do with fixing the day as he had. The affair may 
look a little hasty. But Jack is like me. When a 
thing is to be done, he thinks the way to do it, is to do 
it, and then it is done. I am to be married at home, 
without any stir, in a gray silk travelling-dress, and 
that is all I shall have made at present. It will be a 
comfort to have it all over, especially as there is no- 
body but me to attend to the housekeeping, and I 
certainly ought to be back before the cucumbers are 
too big for pickling.” 

Ardis leaned back in her chair and laughed. “My 
dear child,” she cried, “why didn’t you plant gherkins, 
and then you might have made your wedding-trip ever 
so much longer. They never grow big.” 

529 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“Gherkins!” cried Norma. “I never plant gher- 
kins ! They can’t get bigger than your finger, and 
how are you to know whether they are young and 
tender, or old and tough ? But when regular cucum- 
bers are little they are bound to be young. They are 
like human beings— a baby is a baby, and you can’t 
make any mistake about it. But gherkins are like 
imps or dwarfs— little enough, to be sure, but they 
may be as old as the hills.” 

And so it was that on Tuesday, the seventeenth day 
of the month, John Edward Surrey and Norma Wither- 
spoon Cranton were married at Heatherley, with no 
one present but the family and a few near friends, 
that they went to Old Point Comfort, that, after a 
merry fortnight there with the world and the sea, they 
returned to the quiet of Heatherley and began their 
united existence. 

And the honest-hearted Norma truly believed that 
the alacrity and promptness which characterized their 
matrimonial proceedings were due to her habits of 
prompt action. Never for a moment did she imagine 
that she was now a happy married woman because Jack 
Surrey was a man who, if he had anything to do, went 
immediately to work and did it. 

“Everything is arranged perfectly,” she said to 
Ardis, on her return. “We settled it while we were 
away. I am to manage everything in our establish- 
ment, just as I have been used to do, father is to do 
exactly as he pleases, and the others are to go on in 
the old ways. But Jack is to attend to all the buying 
and selling. Buying and selling have always been 
weak points in our family. We always sold when 
things were very cheap, and bought when they were 
530 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


very dear. Jack is going to change all that. I 
have no doubt that we shall be thousands of dollars 
richer.” 

The early days of August came, rich, warm, and 
fruity. Then it was that Roger and Ardis were mar- 
ried. This wedding, too, took place in the family man- 
sion of the bride, but it did not at all resemble the 
quiet ceremony at Heatherley. From all the surround- 
ing country, and from cities afar, came wedding-guests 
to Bald Hill. This was the grand culminating glory 
which had come to shed its refulgent light upon the 
life of Major Claverden, and he desired that all the 
world— at least, all his world— should see that light, 
should bask and revel in it. 

Not only invited guests, but negro men, women, 
and children, with shining teeth and glittering eyes, 
came from all surrounding parts to lend a hand on 
this great occasion. To bask and revel in the effulgent 
light of a wedding at Bald Hill was a joy to them, 
which would stand out boldly in the experience of a 
lifetime. 

Two little darkies to a stick of wood for the great 
kitchen fire, three dancing colored girls to a pail of 
water, two women to pick the feathers from one 
chicken, three stout fellows to groom a horse, and a 
troop of between twenty or thirty men, women, and 
children to bring up watermelons from the distant 
patch, was about the proportion of laborers to labor in 
these happy days of preparation. TJncle Shad nearly 
broke himself down, endeavoring to find them all 
something to do. 

In the old mansion there was a rare scene when the 
beautiful daughter of the house walked through the 
531 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


parted crowd of wedding-guests, and, still mistress of 
all hearts, gave herself away to one. 

When the ceremony was over, the major stepped to 
the front and took command of the merrymaking. 
All made merry, but none made merrier than Jack 
Surrey. The occasion suited him perfectly. For the 
time, he became, heart and soul, a Virginia gentleman 
of the olden time, and there were moments when it 
might have been difficult to determine whether it was 
he or Major Claverden who was the genial, glowing 
host. 

When the last cork had been drawn at the wedding- 
supper, when the last toast had been drunk and the 
last speech made, when the last kiss had been given 
and the last happy tear had been shed, Roger and 
Ardis drove away under the bright stars on their wed- 
ding-journey to the North. 


532 


CHAPTER L 

Mr. Egbert Dalrymple did not attend the wedding 
at Bald Hill. Shortly after his conversation with 
Major Claverden, in which the latter invited him to 
visit his house no more, he had gone away, to stay 
away until it should please him to come back. During 
such absences it was his usual custom to go from place 
to place, without giving notice to any one. 

His family had grown accustomed to this, and looked 
upon it as an eccentricity of genius. That Egbert was 
a genius not one of them doubted. In many respects, 
this was a comforting conviction, for, as it had always 
been impossible to induce him to act like other people, 
they satisfied their consciences in giving up the at- 
tempt by the reflection that there was a reason for 
his peculiarities. Genius they considered a very good 
reason. 

The son of the house disturbed himself not at all 
about the opinions of the family, or the opinions of 
other people. In action he was absolutely indepen- 
dent. What he chose to do, he did, and this might 
be said to be the rule of his life, if it had been com- 
patible with his nature to make rules. 

He had gone away from home because discordant 
notes had been struck within him— very discordant. 

533 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


When the murmur of this inharmony had ceased, he 
would return. He belonged to Ardis Claverden. He 
had given himself to her, and there was no power on 
earth which could make him withdraw the gift. In 
the autumn he would return, and, without reference 
to anything which had taken place, he would again 
assure her of the eternal validity of her property in 
him. 

Going from one summer resort to another, he met 
many beautiful and charming women, and as he was 
as nearly beautiful as a man can be, some of these 
were attracted by him. This he perceived, but the 
knowledge made no impression upon him. If he oc- 
cupied himself at all with thoughts of these ladies, 
it was when, from a lofty height, he criticised their 
charms. This one was below his standard in one way, 
that one in another. One lady he condemned because 
she was too beautiful. She would make everything 
about her mean and ugly, he thought. She shone in 
herself, she gave out nothing. Not so the radiant one 
to whom he had given himself. Her loveliness was 
all-pervading. It filled his perceptions. It made it 
impossible for him to see aught but beauty in every- 
thing about her. 

He was stopping in New York, on his way from the 
sea-shore to the mountains, when, picking up a news- 
paper at his hotel, he saw therein an announcement of 
the marriage of Roger Dunworth and Ardis Claverden. 
He read it carefully. He read it again, and then he 
laid the paper upon the table. He stood for a few 
moments, gazing darkly upon the floor. Then he 
ejaculated, “So ! ” and strode from the room. 

With his arms folded, and his eyes fixed in sombre 
534 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


steadfastness on the ground before him, he strode a 
long distance, turning at random this corner or that. 
A flower -stand happening to come within the range 
of his downward glance, his eye was attracted by a 
blossom whose hue was in harmony with the season. 
Stopping, he bought the flower, and pinned it in his 
buttonhole. 

It had been late in the afternoon when he read the 
announcement, and when it grew dark he was still 
striding. After a time he came out on one of the river 
fronts in a somewhat unfrequented part of the city. 
The streets and wharves were here not well lighted, 
but there was a young moon, and its half-fledged radi- 
ance made up the deficiencies of lamplight. He went 
out on a pier, and stood with folded arms, gazing 
darkly at the scene. The river stretched far before 
him to the green heights upon the other side. Below, 
there were moving lights upon the water. Up the 
river, all was calm and quiet. 

Moored at a short distance beyond the end of the 
pier was a canal-boat, with no one visible upon it. 
Dalrymple much wished to get upon this boat. He 
disliked to have it between him and the view. But 
there was no plank connecting it with the pier, and 
the distance was too great to leap. 

Dalrymple was full of youthful vigor and activity. 
He mounted with ease to the top of one of the tall 
posts at the end of the pier, and stood erect, with arms 
folded. This elevated position gave him a good view 
of the wide-spread and dimly lighted scene— a scene in 
perfect harmony with his train of thought, for the 
young moon was going down the sky, and dusk was 
slowly giving place to night. 

535 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


But the view was unsatisfactory to Egbert Dalrym- 
ple. The obtrusive and incongruous canal-boat was 
between him and the far-reaching. He could not 
avoid seeing it in its ugliness, its inharmoniousness. 
He got down from the post and looked over the side 
of the pier. Under the next pier he saw a network of 
beams and crosspieces, which had for him an odd at- 
traction. He knew there must be the same beneath 
the pier on which he stood, and he let himself down 
nearly to the surface of the water, and got upon the 
supporting framework. Holding to some of these 
timbers, and stepping upon others, he moved slowly 
under the pier. The light was very dim, and occa- 
sionally he stretched out one foot before him in order 
to feel his way, and, after a slight slip while doing this, 
his foot accidentally rested upon a large, horizontal 
beam, a little below the surface of the water. This 
discovery fascinated him. His eyes were becoming 
accustomed to the dim light, and he could discern the 
timbers about him. But this one could not be seen— 
it was an unknown foothold. 

Moving his foot along this submerged beam, he 
found that it extended itself toward the outer end of 
the pier. How far it extended he could not know, but 
that mattered nothing. He stepped boldly upon the 
beam, and, as here there was space enough, he stood 
upright. Then, thrusting his hands into his trousers 
pockets, he walked steadily forward, the water lapping 
about his ankles. 

It pleased him well that he could not see the beam 
on which he walked. He would come to the end of it 
without knowing he was there. This would be in con- 
sonance with his mood. 


536 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

He came to the end without knowing he was there. 
“So!” he ejaculated, and, thrusting his hands still 
deeper into his pockets, he disappeared beneath the 
water. 

There was no one on the canal-boat but the wife of 
the captain, and as she did not expect her husband 
until a late hour, she fastened the door of the little 
cabin and went to bed early. She slept well, but she 
had a curious dream. She dreamed that somebody 
without a boat, or a plank, or a bridge of any kind, 
came out to the canal -boat, and knocked for admission. 
And, strangest of all, this person did not knock on the 
door of her cabin, nor on the deck, nor on the sides, 
nor at the bow nor the stern, but actually knocked 
on the bottom of the boat. 

When, after midnight, her husband came on board 
in a skiff, she told him her dream. He was in a jovial 
mood, and laughed. 

“ That’s just where I want people to knock,” said 
he, “who come about this boat when I am away. I 
fancy you didn’t git up an’ let him in ? ” 

The woman smiled, but the influence of the dream 
was upon her, and she lay awake for a long time. 

The tide was running out, and from under the canal- 
boat the flower of late summer, the blossom in har- 
mony with the season, floated away under the quiet 
waters into the open bay, and beneath the vessels, 
great and small, on and on, urged by the strong cur- 
rent, out to sea. And there, floating in still water far 
below the long-rolling surface swell, it passed beneath 
a coastwise steamer coming northward, on whose deck 
stood a newly wedded couple on their bridal tour. 
They had come on deck to see the sun rise. 

537 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Farther out to sea, and farther out, and deeper 
down, and deeper down, sank the flower of late sum- 
mer, until it faded away into unknown depths, where 
no particle of light could penetrate to show that it 
had ever been a flower. 


538 


CHAPTER LI 


It was early in September. Ardis and Roger had re- 
turned from their wedding-tour, and, at the earnest 
solicitude of Major Claverden, were spending a few 
days at Bald Hill before settling in their own home. 
Not a cloud obscured their perfect happiness. They 
returned to hear nothing but that which was cheerful 
and hopeful. 

At Heatherley, Norma was full of work and happi- 
ness. Delighted with the conviction that, as a married 
woman, she was managing better than ever before, she 
did not perceive that Jack Surrey’s hand was ever on 
the helm, that he it was who gave the word of com- 
mand, that he ordered the sails flung to the winds or 
furled from the storm, and that he piped all hands to 
holystone the deck, to board the enemy, or to muster 
aft for grog. 

Dr. Lester was looking better. His eyes were 
brighter, and the old smile was more frequently seen 
on his face. He had accepted two things,— the inev- 
itable and Cream-o’ -Tartar,— and both had done him 
good. He was fond of walking, but he did not like 
to be obliged to walk. It humbled him. It was 
cheering to his soul again to ride about on his good 
539 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


old friend, and, wherever he went, to meet other good 
friends, glad to see him. 

One thing he had lost, or rather had deliberately set 
aside, and that was the old friendship and intimacy 
with his brother philosophizer, Bonetti. The doctor 
was always civil to the descendant of the vine-dresser, 
but there was no more philosophizing, there were no 
more confidences. Bonnet had been false to him. 
Bonnet was set aside. 

The three English pupils of husbandry still remained 
at the Dunworth place, awaiting the advent of the new 
regime. Parchester was there because it was the wish 
of his heart to live where he could serve the mistress 
who was coming, Skitt was there because he wanted to 
see how things were going to turn out, and Crupple- 
dean remained because it was stupid to go off by one’s 
self, and because he supposed one place was as bad as 
another. 

Tom Prouter was in a state of spasmodic satisfaction. 
This had been the case for a few days only. For some 
weeks before, he had been in a very dull mood. He 
had lost interest in his vineyard. Surrey had deserted 
him, and there had been another cloud, of which he 
did not speak. But now his spirits were brightening ; 
he had sold his place, and Miss Airpenny had bought it. 

This sturdy and worthy lady was about to set off on 
a long series of journeys into far-away lands, and it had 
occurred to her, when Prouter’s little estate was put 
on the market at a very low figure, that it would be 
a satisfactory thing to have a home to come back to, 
and a place to which to send such articles of oddity or 
art as she might collect in her wanderings. So she 
bought the property, vineyard and all, and engaged 
540 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


Bonetti to come there, with his family, and take 
• charge while she was away, and to devote his services 
to her when she should return. 

This was rare good fortune to Bonetti. Here would 
be opportunities, such as before he had never had, for 
enjoying what the seasons might give him of warm air, 
blue sky, and the smell of grapes. 

It was matter for conjecture, when Bonetti had set- 
tled his family in the small house vacated by Prouter, 
whether or not Miss Airpenny, after her return from 
her travels, would be able to find any place for herself 
and her belongings. But the ingenious Bonetti easily 
solved this problem by showing what a simple matter 
it would be to build a wing on one side of the house. 
There was space enough to make the rooms any size 
Miss Airpenny might think she required. 

Only one regret clouded the soul of Bonetti, and 
that was that Dr. Lester was no longer his friend, 
confidant, and benefactor. But philosophizing is often 
a great comfort, and as Bonetti smoked his evening 
pipe on the little porch of his new home, he more than 
once said to himself that, after all, it was very well 
that things had happened as they had happened. For 
if he had not sold that little piece of information to 
Prouter, he and Surrey would never have gone to 
Georgia ; there would have been no row down there j 
Miss Ardis would have returned to Bald Hill engaged 
to Dunworth ; the madcap Prouter would never have 
thought of settling down and buying that house and 
vineyard ; if he had not bought it he could not have 
sold it to Miss Airpenny ; if Miss Airpenny had not 
become its owner, he, Joseph Bonetti, would not now 
be smoking his evening pipe upon that porch. 

541 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


The fact that no one knew anything of the where- 
abouts of Egbert Dalrymple caused no sensation in his 
family, nor among his acquaintances. It was so much 
of a custom with him to go away when he pleased, to 
stay away as long as he pleased, and to write to no one 
unless it happened to please him to do so, that his con- 
tinued absence was considered quite a matter of course. 
He had a small income of his own, and it was not neces- 
sary for him to communicate with his family. 

His sister had her private ideas about him. “This 
time,” she said to herself, “it is all on account of that 
Claverden girl. He will not come back here until he 
has set his heart on somebody else. If he should write 
to me from Japan, I should not be surprised.” 

As nobody knew where he had gone, nobody knew 
that he would not come back. The only connection 
between what he had been, and what he was, was the 
vague dream of the wife of the canal-boat captain— a 
dream belonging as much to another world as to this. 


542 


CHAPTER LII 


It was the last evening of the stay of Roger and Ardis 
at Bald Hill. On the morrow they would begin life 
in their own home. The air was slightly cool, and a 
wood fire was crackling in the library, where a goodly 
company of friends was assembled. The Chiverleys 
were there. They had come down to the wedding, 
and had been detained by the major as prisoners 
of hospitality. Dr. Lester was there. Mr. and Mrs. 
Surrey had driven down from Heatherley in the old 
family coach, which had recently been painted and 
put in running order. Ex-Governor Upton and Gen- 
eral Tredner had arrived that day, having come down 
to Bald Hill to keep the major from feeling lonely 
after his daughter had gone. They were always will- 
ing to employ a spare week or two in good works of 
this sort. 

The major had invited the three English pupils, but 
when they heard that Miss Airpenny was to be there, 
Skitt and Cruppledean declined; and Tom Prouter 
drove Parchester to Bald Hill in his cart. 

“Do you know what I should like to do?” said 
Prouter, when they were on the road. 

“No, really,” said Parchester. “It is too much to 
543 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 

expect of any man to know what you would like 
to do ! ” 

“Then I 7 11 tell you/ 7 said Prouter, with an expression 
of high moral conviction. “It is beastly stupid for me 
to try to manage things I know nothing about. I 
made an ass of myself in the milk business, and vine- 
growing was no better. Before I start out to do any- 
thing else, I ought to know how to do it. What do 
you say to my asking Dunworth to take me as a 
pupil f 77 

Parchester gave a sudden twist in his seat, and 
looked very hard at his companion. “Tom Prouter, 77 
said he, “where did you tell me your people live at 
home ? 77 

“At Fligwich, Bucks, 77 was the reply. 

“Well, then, 77 said Parchester, “what I advise you 
to do is to go back to Fligwich as soon as you can. 77 

“Fligwich be bio wed ! 77 said Prouter, as he gave his 
horse such a crack that Parchester nearly went back- 
ward out of the cart. “Pll tell you what Pll do : I 7 11 
go to California and travel about there for a time, and 
if I find, when I come back, that I haven’t got over 
wanting to learn farming of Dunworth, then Pll go to 
Fligwich. 77 

The library was the largest and pleasantest room at 
Bald Hill, and never had it held a more genial com- 
pany. Late in the evening, the major absented him- 
self for a few minutes, and when he returned he bore 
in his hand a bottle of wine. He advanced to the 
middle of the room, and put the bottle upon a table. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, 77 he said, “I will ask you to 
give me your attention for a very short time. You all 
know that for years I have devoted myself to an object 
544 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


which gradually grew to be very precious to me. That 
object was to produce on my native soil, on the very 
land on which I was born, on which I have lived, and 
on which I shall die, a wine as rich, as generous, I may 
say of as noble qualities, as that which is made from 
the most famed vineyards of the Rhine, in which vine- 
yards there are no elements of success in grape culture 
which do not exist on my own Bald Hill. This I be- 
lieved, and this I still believe. 

“But I have not been able to attain my object; 
through my own fault, I have been unable to attain it. 
In many ways I erred, but I shall not dwell upon 
these. One of my greatest faults was the eagerness of 
age. I ought to have been a young man when I began 
this work, for I was handicapped by the feeling that 
what I had to do must be done quickly. I was too 
unwilling to wait patiently for results. Of this I will 
presently give you proof. 

“Four years ago some of my vines, to which I had 
given great care, yielded promising fruit, from which 
a small quantity of wine was made. This wine, even 
after the lapse of two years, did not come up to my 
standard of wine of that age. This disappointment 
led me to dig up the vines. Of the wine that was 
made, only this bottle was preserved. A day or two ago, 
more from curiosity than from any other motive, I 
tasted it, and I say to you, my dear friends, that I be- 
lieve I have here the true wine of Bald Hill, equal to 
any wine ever made on the slopes of the Rhine or on 
the smiling shores of the Mediterranean.” 

This announcement made a great stir in the eagerly 
listening company, but no one interrupted the major, 
and he went on : 


545 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


“But I have failed in my great object of the pro- 
duction of this wine on my native soil. The vines 
from which this was made are gone. I cannot tell any 
one, for I do not know myself, under what conditions 
I grew them. It is too late for me to begin again that 
protracted series of experiments. There is in the 
world but this one bottle of my wine of Bald Hill, and 
there never will be any more of it. 

“But I do not consider that my life has been a fail- 
ure. I have lived to see my daughter happy. That is 
enough for me. And now, good friends, to the health 
and happiness of that daughter let us drink the wine 
of Bald Hill.” 

A tray of small glasses was brought, and the major 
carefully portioned the precious wine among the com- 
pany. The toast was drunk with friendly enthusiasm. 
Then followed a burst of encomiums upon the aroma 
and flavor of the wine, which the company continued 
to sip, with increasing delight, as long as a drop re- 
mained. But it was impossible that the general grati- 
fication should not be mingled with feelings of regret 
that the wine of Bald Hill was a thing of the past. 
The major, however, declined all condolences. He 
had had success enough in life— he could spare this 
one. 

Suddenly, and to the surprise of every one, Hr. 
Lester rose to his feet, with the evident intention of 
addressing the company. Such action was so foreign 
to the ordinary habits of this quiet and retiring gen- 
tleman that every one stopped talking, and every eye 
was fixed upon him. Unaccustomed as he was to 
addressing even the smallest assembly, he did not, on 
this occasion, hesitate, nor show the slightest discom- 
546 


X92 * 


ARDIS CLAVERDEN 


posure. Either the potent spirit of the rich wine, or 
the concentrated emotions of a lifetime, affected him. 
He spoke with strength and earnestness. 

“My friends,” he said, “do not commiserate Major 
Claverden. He has nothing to regret. He has not 
failed. The true wine of Bald Hill is a thing of 
reality. It exists. Noble, generous, and rare, it flows 
in the veins of his daughter Ardis.” 

A round of applause broke from the company as the 
doctor sat down, and, without a word, Major Claverden 
warmly grasped him by the hand. A moment after- 
wards Ardis stepped quickly to the doctor’s side, and, 
stooping, kissed him. 


547 































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